There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small; because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.

Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.

Man maketh a death which Nature never made.

The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.

A friend is worth all hazards we can run.

Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.

Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.