God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.

Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.

Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.

Grief is itself a medicine.

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.