Prosperity, alas! is often but another name for pride.

There must be some mixture of happiness in everything but sin.

O ye whose years unfolding fair Are fresh with youth, and free from care, Should vice and indolence desire The garden of your souls to hire, No parleys hold-reject the suit, Nor let one seed the soil pollute. My child their first approach beware, With firmness break the insidious snare, Lest as the acorns grew and throve Into a sun-encircled grove, Thy sins, a dark o'ershadowing tree Shut out the light of Heaven from thee.

Vigorous exercise will often fortify a feeble constitution.

Life has, indeed, many ills, but the mind that views every object in its most cheering aspect, and every doubtful dispensation as replete with latent good, bears within itself a powerful and perpetual antidote. The gloomy soul aggravates misfortune, while a cheerful smile often dispels those mists that portend a storm.

The vanity of shining in conversation is usually subversive of its own desires.

As nothing truly valuable can be attained without industry, so there can be no persevering industry without a deep sense of the value of time.