God has created too few unmixed evils to warrant the belief that death is one of them. In all things else in nature, goodness so abounds that we are authorized to infer that it does not stop even at the grave. It is only that her footprints have become invisible.

The heart contracts as the pocket expands.

There are ceremonious bows that repel one like a cudgel.

Even when we fancy we have grown wiser, it is only, it may be, that new prejudices have displaced old ones.

Complaint is. more contemptible than pitiful.

Great warriors, like great earthquakes, are principally remembered for the mischief they have done.

He that shrinks from the grave with too great a dread, has an invisible fear behind him pushing him into it.