The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented; our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read; and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.

To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.

I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.

A fool must now and then be right, by chance

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