Virtue that wavers is not virtue.

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

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.

The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven.

Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.

He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.

Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.