I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!

Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.