Ill Fortune Seldom Comes Alone.

Thoughts Cannot Form Themselves In Words So Horrid As Can Express My Guilt.

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He Who Can Call Today His Own; He Who, Secure Within, Can Say, Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today.

Pity Melts The Mind To Love.

Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And A Word Which I Would Fain Bring Back To Its Original Signification Of Virtue,--i Mean Good-nature,--are Of Daily Use; They Are The Bread Of Mankind And Staff Of Life.

Prodigious Actions May As Well Be Done, By Weaver's Issue, As The Prince's Son.