Home is the sacred refuge of our life.
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.
The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.