Books are embalmed minds.

Fortune, like a coy mistress, loves to yield her favors, though she makes us wrest them from her.

Next to faith in God, is faith in labor.

Dishonesty is a forsaking of permanent for temporary advantages.

The life even of a just man is a round of petty frauds; that of a knave a series of greater. We degrade life by our follies and vices, and then complain that the unhappiness which is only their accompaniment is inherent in the constitution of things.

There are some kinds of men who cannot pass their time alone; they are the flails of occupied people.(Bonald, M.} There are few wild beasts more to be dreaded than a communicative man having nothing to communicate.

To cultivate a garden is to walk with God.