But God himself is truth; in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.

Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.

He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.

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?

He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.

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

What am I pondering, you ask? So help me God, immortality.