There Is No Virtue So Truly Great

My Voice Is Still For War.

Sweet Are The Slumbers Of The Virtuous Man.

That Fine Part Of Our Construction, The Eye, Seems As Much The Receptacle And Seat Of Our Passions As The Mind Itself; And At Least It Is The Outward Portal To Introduce Them To The House Within, Or Rather The Common Thoroughfare To Let Our Affections Pass In And Out.

The Chief Ingredients In The Composition Of Those Qualities That Gain Esteem And Praise, Are Good Nature, Truth, Good Sense, And Good Breeding.

Virtue Which Shuns, The Day.