If I Wished To Punish My Enemy,

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest, Compelled To Starve At An Unreal Feast: A Spark, Which Upward Tends By Nature's Force: A Stream Diverted From Its Parent Source; A Drop Dissever'd From The Boundless Sea; A Moment, Parted From Eternity; A Pilgrim Panting For The Rest To Come; An Exile, Anxious For His Native Home.

We Live In An Age Which Must Be Amused, Though Genius, Feeling, Trust, And Principle Be The Sacrifice.

Youth Has A Quickness Of Apprehension, Which It Is Very Apt To Mistake For An Acuteness Of Penetration.

If A Young Lady Has That Discretion And Modesty Without Which All Knowledge Is Little Worth, She Will Never Make An Ostentatious Parade Of It, Because She Will Rather Be Intent On Acquiring More Than On Displaying What She Has.

Genius Without Religion Is Only A Lamp On The Outer Gate Of A Palace; It May Serve To Cast A Gleam Of Light On Those That Are Without, While The Inhabitant Sits In Darkness.