The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.

Good sense and good nature are never separated; and good nature is the product of right reason.

A happy genius is the gift of nature.

…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.

The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.

Genius must be born, and never can be taught.