For ever singing as they shine, The hand that made us is divine.

The jealous man's disease is of so malignant a nature, that it converts all it takes into its own nourishment.

The moderns cannot reach their beauties, but can avoid their imperfections.

If we hope for what we are not likely to possess, we act and think in vain, and make life a greater dream and shadow than it really is.

The unjustifiable severity of a parent is loaded with this aggravation, that those whom he injures are always in his sight.

If there's a power above us, (And that there is all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue.

The important question is not, what will yield to man a few scattered pleasures, but what will render his life happy on the whole amount.