If faith produce no works, I see That faith is not a living tree.

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

If I wanted to punish an enemy, it should be by fastening on him the trouble of constantly hating somebody.

The secret heart is fair devotion's temple; there the saint, even on that living altar, lights the flame of purest sacrifice, which burns unseen, not unaccepted.

We do not so much want books for good people, as books which will make bad ones better.

One kernel is felt in a hogshead; one drop of water helps to swell the ocean; a spark of fire helps to give light to the world. None are too small, too feeble, too poor to be of service. Think of this and act.

Oh! the joy Of young ideas painted on the mind, In the warm glowing colors fancy spreads On objects not yet known, when all is new, And all is lovely.