It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.

The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.

The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.

Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.

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

Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.

Absence of proof is not proof of absence.