Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.

That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.

For mysterious things of faith, rely on the proponent, Heaven's authority.

We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.

But love's a malady without a cure.

Men are but children of a larger growth.

Learn to write well, or not to write at all.