Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted.

Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied.

Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly bodies.

If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.

Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing.