The mind profits by the wrecks of every passion.

It is, the most beautiful truth in morals that we have no such thing as a distinct or divided interest from our race. In their welfare is ours, and by choosing the broadest paths to effect their happiness we choose the surest and the shortest to our own.

Evening is the delight of virtuous age; it seems an emblem of the tranquil close of busy life--serene, placid, and mild, with the impress of its great Creator stamped upon it; it spreads its quiet wings over the grave, and seems to promise that all shall be peace beyond it.

Shame is like the weaver's thread; if it breaks in the net, it is wholly imperfect.

As the excitement of the game increases, prudence is sure to diminish.

Fiction may be said to be the caricature of history.

Though Hope be a small child, she can carry a great anchor!