Where Evil May Be Done, It Is

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.

To Be Good And Disagreeable Is High Treason Against The Royalty Of Virtue.

We Are Too Ready To Imagine That We Are Religious, Because We Know Something Of Religion. We Appropriate To Ourselves The Pious Sentiments We Read, And We Talk As If The Thoughts Of Other Men's Heads Were Really The Feelings Of Our Own Hearts. But Piety Has Not Its Seat In The Memory, But In The Affections, For Which However The Memory Is An Excellent Purveyor, Though A Bad Substitute.

He Who Cannot Find Time To Consult His Bible Will One Day Find He Has Time To Be Sick; He Who Has No Time To Pray Must Find Time To Die; He Who Can Find No Time To Reflect Is Most Likely To Find Time To Sin; He Who Cannot Find Time For Repentance Will Find An Eternity In Which Repentance Will Be Of No Avail; He Who Cannot Find Time To Work For Others May Find An Eternity In Which To Suffer For Himself.

Glory Darts Her Soul-pervading Ray On Thrones And Cottages, Regardless Still Of All The Artificial Nice Distinctions Vain Human Customs Make.