In agony or danger, no nature is atheist. The mind that knows not what to fly to, flies to God.

Long habit so reconciles us to almost any thing, that the grossest improprieties cease to strike us when they once make a part of the common course of action.

Glory darts her soul-pervading ray on thrones and cottages, regardless still of all the artificial nice distinctions vain human customs make.

the modes of speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence.

Names govern the world.

Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs.

The soul on earth is an immortal guest.