Magnanimity Is Above Circumstance; And Any Virtue

Compulsion Hardly Restores Right; Love Yields All Things.

Happiness Is A Sunbeam Which May Pass Through A Thousand Bosoms Without Losing A Particle Of Its Original Ray; Nay, When It Strikes On A Kindred Heart, Like The Converged Light On A Mirror, It Reflects Itself With Redoubled Brightness. It Is Not Perfected Till It Is Shared.

Life Is A Warfare; And He Who Easily Desponds Deserts A Double Duty--he Betrays The Noblest Property Of Man, Which Is Dauntless Resolution; And He Rejects The Providence Of That All-gracious Being Who Guides And Rules The Universe.

True Virtue, When She Errs, Needs Not The Eyes Of Men To Excite Her Blushes; She Is Confounded At Her Own Presence, And Covered With Confusion Of Face.

Yet Happiness Isn't Something You Chase, It's Something You Are. It's Something You Think, It's Something You Believe.