God made the country, and man made the town.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.

Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.

Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.

Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, The positive pronounce without dismay.