I sometimes think one of the great blessings we shall enjoy in heaven, will be to receive letters by every post and never be obliged to reply to them.

No man is so methodical as a complete idler, and none so scrupulous in measuring out his time as he whose time is worth nothing.

Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.

The paternal hearth, the rallying-place of the affections.

History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?

Small minds are subdued by misfortunes, greater minds overcome them.

There are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affection.