We Live In An Age Which Must

He Who Finds He Has Wasted A Shilling May By Diligence Hope To Fetch It Up Again; But No Repentance Or Industry Can Ever Bring Back One Wasted Hour.

My Retirement Was Now Become Solitude; The Former Is, I Believe, The Best State For The Mind Of Man, The Latter Almost The Worst. In Complete Solitude, The Eye Wants Objects, The Heart Wants Attachments, The Understanding Wants Reciprocation. The Character Loses Its Tenderness When It Has Nothing To Strengthen It, Its Sweetness When It Has Nothing To Soothe It.

A Small Unkindness Is A Great Offence.

The Roses Of Pleasure Seldom Last Long Enough To Adorn The Brow Of Him Who Plucks Them; For They Are The Only Roses Which Do Not Retain Their Sweetness After They Have Lost Their Beauty.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Praise When Given By Those Whose Own High Merit Claims The Praise They Give.