Pride ruined the angels.

The experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet

Our religion vulgarly stands on numbers of believers. Whenever the appeal is made--no matter how indirectly--to numbers, proclamation is then and there made, that religion is not. He that finds God a sweet, enveloping presence, who shall dare to come in?

The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.

Repose and cheerfulness is the badge of the gentleman; repose in energy.

Things bring their own philosophy with them, that is, prudence.

If in the least particular, one could derange the order of nature, who would accept the gift of life?