It must be so,-Plato, thou reasonest well! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'T is the divinity that stirs within us; 'T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!

I have often thought, says Sir Roger, it happens very well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of Winter.

See in what peace a Christian can die.

The utmost extent of man's knowledge, is to know that he knows nothing.

One may know a man that never conversed in the world, by his excess of good-breeding.

Love is a second life.

Supposing all the great points of atheism were formed into a kind of creed, I would fain ask whether it would not require an infinite greater measure of faith than any set of articles which they so violently oppose.