There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.
An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting.
War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.