Truth is the object of our understanding, as good is of our will; and the understanding can no more be delighted with a lie than the will can choose an apparent evil.
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
Pity melts the mind to love.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he, who can call today his own.