I have somewhere read that conscience not only sits as witness and judge within our bosoms, but also forms the prison of punishment.
A wise Providence consoles our present afflictions by joys borrowed from the future.
The eye is inlet to the soul.
The heavens and the earth, the woods and the wayside, teem with instruction and knowledge to the curious and thoughtful.
None but the guilty know the withering pains of repentance.
A true religious instinct never deprived man of one single joy; mournful faces and a sombre aspect are the conventional affectations of the weak-minded.