As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.
O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
Sensibility is nature's celestial spring.