In A Free Country Every Man Thinks

Manners Are Of More Importance Than Laws. Manners Are What Vex Or Soothe, Corrupt Or Purify, Exalt Or Debase, Barbarize Or Refine Us, By A Constant, Steady, Uniform, Insensible Operation, Like That Of The Air We Breathe.

Whilst Shame Keeps Its Watch, Virtue Is Not Wholly Extinguished In The Heart; Nor Will Moderation Be Utterly Exiled From The Minds Of Tyrants.

There Never Was A Bad Man That Had Ability For Good Service.

In This Choice Of Inheritance We Have Given To Our Frame Of Polity The Image Of A Relation In Blood; Binding Up The Constitution Of Our Country With Our Dearest Domestic Ties; Adopting Our Fundamental Laws Into The Bosom Of Our Family Affections; Keeping Inseparable And Cherishing With The Warmth Of All Their Combined And Mutually Reflected Charities, Our State, Our Hearths, Our Sepulchres, And Our Altars.

I Would Rather Sleep In The Southern Corner Of A Little Country Churchyard Than In The Tomb Of The Capulets.