My hands are clean, but my heart has somewhat of impurity.
Oh, trebly blest the placid lot of those whose hearth foundations are in pure love laid, where husband's breast with tempered ardor glows, and wife, oft mother, is in heart a maid!
Good and bad may not be dissevered; There is, as there should be, a commingling.
I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.
Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing.
Alas!-but why Alas? It is the lot of mortality we experience.