Virtue is the music of the soul, the harmony of the passions.

How tedious is time, when his wings are loaded with expectation!

Avarice, with all its black attendants, is confessedly a crime of old age, and seldom arrives at maturity till accompanied with gray hairs.

Virtue is the music of the soul, the harmony of the passions.

swearing is, as I have said, learning to the ignorant, eloquence to the blockhead, vivacity to the stupid, and wit to the coxcomb.

I am strangely addicted to the writing of long letters, which, I am afraid, tire you; and for the future, I believe, I must be less communicative, in order to be less troublesome.

prayer must be, in its own nature, absurd and impertinent.