The woman in us still prosecutes a deceit like that begun in the garden.

Some pretences daunt and discourage us, while others raise us to a brisk assurance.

How the purer spirit is united to his clod, is a knot too hard for fallen humanity to untie.

The sages of old live again in us, and in opinions there is a metempsychosis.

The union of a sect within itself is a pitiful charity; it's no concord of Christians, but a conspiracy against Christ; and they that love one another for their opinionative concurrence, love for their own sakes, not their Lord's.

That though we are certain of many things, yet that Certainty is no absolute Infallibility, there still remains the possibility of our being mistaken in all matters of humane Belief and Inquiry.

There is nothing in words and styles out suitableness that makes them acceptable and effective.