Forced from home, and all its pleasures, afric coast I left forlorn; to increase a stranger's treasures, o the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, paid my price in paltry gold; but, though theirs they have enroll'd me, minds are never to be sold.

They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.

Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?

If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; he does not feel for man.

My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.

Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.