The woman in us still prosecutes a deceit like that begun in the garden.
Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
The understanding also hath its idiosyncrasies as well as other faculties.
How the purer spirit is united to his clod, is a knot too hard for fallen humanity to untie.
Some pretences daunt and discourage us, while others raise us to a brisk assurance.
We have a mistaken notion of antiquity, calling that so which in truth is the world's nonage.