Solitude Is The Audience-chamber Of God.

There Is A Desire Of Property In The Sanest And Best Men, Which Nature Seems To Have Implanted As Conservative Of Her Works, And Which Is Necessary To Encourage And Keep Alive The Arts.

Friendships Are The Purer And The More Ardent, The Nearer They Come To The Presence Of God, The Sun Not Only Of Righteousness But Of Love.

Wise Or Unwise, Who Doubts For A Moment That Contentment Is The Cause Of Happiness? Yet The Inverse Is True: We Are Contented Because We Are Happy, And Not Happy Because We Are Contented. Well-regulated Minds May Be Satisfied With A Small Portion Of Happiness; None Can Be Happy With A Small Portion Of Content.

Be Assured That, Although Men Of Eminent Genius Have Been Guilty Of All Other Vices, None Worthy Of More Than A Secondary Name Has Ever Been A Gamester. Either An Excess Of Avarice Or A Deficiency Of What, In Physics, Is Called Excitability, Is The Cause Of It; Neither Of Which Can Exist In The Same Bosom With Genius, With Patriotism, Or With Virtue.

We Are Poor, Indeed, When We Have No Half-wishes Left Us. The Heart And The Imagination Close The Shutters The Instant They Are Gone.