Perfect love casteth out fear.

Passion is the mob of the man, that commits a riot upon his reason.

What man in his right mind would conspire his own hurt? Men are beside themselves when they transgress against their convictions.

It is a coal from God's altar must kindle our fire; and without fire, true fire, no acceptable sacrifice.

Were the superfluities of a nation valued, and made a perpetual tax or benevolence, there would be more alms-houses than poor, schools than scholars, and enough to spare for government besides.

Force may subdue, but love gains, and he that forgives first wins the laurel.

My prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot; for I owe my conscience to no mortal man.