Happy he whoe'er, content with the common lot, with safe breeze hugs the shore, and, fearing to trust his skiff to the wider sea, with unambitious oar keeps close to the land.
There has never been any great genius without a spice of madness.
The mind is never right but when it is at peace within itself.
To meditate an injury is to commit one.
The most happy ought to wish for death.
Let tears flow of their own accord; their flowing is not inconsistent with inward peace and harmony.