An Aristotle was but the rubbish of an Adam, and Athens but the rudiments of Paradise.
Innocence is like polished armor; it adorns and defends.
Much reading is like much eating -wholly useless without digestion.
There is not the least flower but seems to hold up its head, and to look pleasantly, in the secret sense of the goodness of its Heavenly Maker.
Pain is an outcry of sin.
He that tears away a man's good name tears his flesh from his bones, and, by letting him live, gives him only a cruel opportunity of feeling his misery, of burying his better part, and surviving himself.