Beauty hath no lustre save when it gleameth through the crystal web that purity's fine fingers weave for it.

They waste life in what are called good resolutions-partial efforts at reformation, feebly commenced, heartlessly conducted, and hopelessly concluded.

The soul shares not the body's test.

A time will come, and soon, when, from mere habit, you will echo the scream of every delirious wretch that harbors near you; then you will pause, clasp your hands on your throbbing head, and listen with horrible anxiety whether the scream proceeded from you or them.

Beauty hath no lustre save when it gleameth through the crystal web that purity's fine fingers weave for it.

There is no error more absurd, and yet more rooted in the heart of man, than the belief that his sufferings will promote his spiritual safety.

Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.