Perfection Is The Child Of Time.

Society Is The Atmosphere Of Souls; And We Necessarily Imbibe From It Something Which Is Either Infectious Or Healthful.

Mark In What Order: First, Our Calling; Then, Our Election; Not Beginning With Our Election First. By Our Calling, Arguing Our Election.

For Every Bad There Might Be A Worse; And When One Breaks His Leg Let Him Be Thankful It Was Not His Neck.

The Proud Man Hath No God; The Envious Man Hath No Neighbor; The Angry Man Hath Not Himself.

That Which The French Proverb Hath Of Sickness Is True Of All Evils, That They Come On Horseback, And Go Away On Foot; We Have Often Seen A Sudden Fall Or One Meal's Surfeit Hath Stuck By Many To Their Graves; Whereas Pleasures Come Like Oxen, Slow, And Heavily, And Go Away Like Post-horses, Upon The Spur.