Truth and fidelity are the pillars of the temple of the world; when these are broken, the fabric falls, and crushes all to pieces.

We pick our own sorrows out of the joys of other men, and from their sorrows likewise we derive our joys.

It is to be doubted whether he will ever find the way to heaven who desires to go thither alone.

How many would die did not hope sustain them.

Virtue dwells at the head of a river, to which we cannot get but by rowing against the stream.

Perfection is immutable. But for things imperfect, change is the way to perfect them.

Virtue were a kind of misery if fame were all the garland that crowned her.