A Slowness To Applaud Betrays A Cold

Where Bright Imagination Reigns, The Fine-wrought Spirit Feels Acuter Pains.

Pleasure Is By Much The Most Laborious Trade I Know, Especially For Those Who Have Not A Vocation To It.

The Sober Comfort, All The Peace Which Springs From The Large Aggregate Of Little Things.

People Talk As If The Act Of Death Made A Complete Change In The Nature, As Well As In The Condition Of Man. Death Is The Vehicle To Another State Of Being, But Possesses No Power To Qualify Us For That State. In Conveying Us To A New World It Does Not Give Us A New Heart.

The Ubiquity Of The Divine Presence Is The Only True Support, And I Am Sometimes Astonished How Persons, Who Evidently Do Not Possess That Grand Source Of Consolation, Keep Up Their Spirits Under Trials And Difficulties. It Must Be Owing To Careless Tempers And Nerves Of Brass.