Every Thought Was Once A Poem.

Character Is, For The Most Part, Simply Habit Become Fixed.

Labor Is The Handmaid Of Religion.

It Is All A Mistake That We Cannot Be Good And Manly Without Being Scrupulously And Studiously Good. There Is Too Much Mechanism About Our Virtue.

Curiosity Is Thought On Its Entering Edge.

My Sin Is The Black Spot Which My Bad Act Makes, Seen Against The Disk Of The Sun Of Righteousness. Hence Religion And Sin Come And Go Together.