Aiming at brevity, I become obscure.
I am not bound over to swear allegiance to any master; where the storm drives me I turn in for shelter.
He who preserves a man's life against his will does the same thing as if he slew him.
Every old poem is sacred.
And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low mimic follies of a farce, As a grave matron would to dance with girls.
He who is upright in his way of life and free from sin.