Rage is for little wrongs; despair is dumb.

The soul on earth is an immortal guest.

Sweet is the breath of praise when given by those whose own high merit claims the praise they give.

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.

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

Those who want nothing are apt to forget how many there are who want every thing.

The abuse of terms has at all times been an evil.