Nothing Will Ever Be Attempted If All

Happiness Is Enjoyed Only In Proportion As It Is Known; And Such Is The State Or Folly Of Man, That It Is Known Only By Experience Of Its Contrary.

Sorrow Is A Kind Of Rust Of The Soul, Which Every New Idea Contributes In Its Passage To Scour Away. It Is The Putrefaction Of Stagnant Life, And Is Remedied By Exercise And Motion.

He Who Waits To Do A Great Deal Of Good At Once Will Never Do Anything.

Sorrow Is Properly That State Of The Mind In Which Our Desires Are Fixed Upon The Past Without Looking Forward To The Future.

For Patience, Sov'reign O'er Transmuted Ill.