Ignorance is the father of all fear.

Nothing may help or heal While Amor incensed remembers wrong.

In time of peril, like the needle to the loadstone, obedience, irrespective of rank, generally flies to him who is best fitted to command.

Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents' beds, unerringly I rush! Naught's an obstacle, naught's an angle to the iron way!

Charity, like poetry, should be cultivated, if only for its being graceful.

Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and true friends are punctilious equals.

Poor people make a very poor business of it when they try to seem rich.