The woman that deliberates is lost.

Peaceable times are the best to live in, though not so proper to furnish materials for a writer.

The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to another for all eternity without a possibility of touching it; and can there be a thought so transporting as to consider ourselves in these perpetual approaches to Him, who is not only the standard of perfection, but of happiness?

There is noting truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labor. The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure.

Wine displays every little spot of the soul in its utmost deformity.

Must one rash word, the infirmity of age, throw down the merit of my better years?

Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.