My Vigour Relents. I Pardon Something To

As The Rose-tree Is Composed Of The Sweetest Flowers And The Sharpest Thorns, As The Heavens Are Sometimes Overcast—alternately Tempestuous And Serene—so Is The Life Of Man Intermingled With Hopes And Fears, With Joys And Sorrows, With Pleasure And Pain.

Delusion And Weakness Produce Not One Mischief The Less, Because They Are Universal.

No Men Can Act With Effect Who Do Not Act In Concert; No Men Can Act In Concert Who Do Not Act With Confidence; No Men Can Act With Confidence Who Are Not Bound Together With Common Opinions, Common Affections, And Common Interests.

History Is A Pact Between The Dead, The Living, And The Yet Unborn.

Nothing So Effectually Deadens The Taste Of The Sublime As That Which Is Light And Radiant.