The Perfection Of Outward Loveliness Is The

None Are Fit Judges Of Greatness But Those Who Are Capable Of It.

The Mob Is A Sort Of Bear; While Your Ring Is Through Its Nose, It Will Even Dance Under Your Cudgel; But Should The Ring Slip, And You Lose Your Hold, The Brute Will Turn And Rend You.

The Only Impregnable Citadel Of Virtue Is Religion; For There Is No Bulwark Of Mere Morality, Which Some Temptation May Not Overtop Or Undermine, And Destroy.

There Is Nothing So Clear-sighted And Sensible As A Noble Mind In A Low Estate.

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.