we contrive to make revenge itself look like religion. We call down thunder on many a head under pretence, that those on whom we invoke it are God's enemies, when perhaps we invoke it because they are ours.

If faith produce no works, I see That faith is not a living tree. Thus faith and works together grow, No separate life they never can know. They're soul and body, hand and heart, What God hath joined, let no man part.

No man ever repented of being a Christian on his death bed.

The artful injury, whose venomed dart scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart.

the uncandid censurer always picks out the worst man of a class, and then confidently produces him as being a fair specimen of it.

oblivion has been noticed as the offspring of silence.

Luxury! more perilous to youth than storms or quicksand, poverty or chains.