Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.

We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once; and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.

Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.

Hope allows us to bid farewell to fear.

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, consult how we may henceforth most offend.

And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?