Our Disputants Put Me In

True Benevolence Or Compassion, Extends Itself Through The Whole Of Existence And Sympathizes With The Distress Of Every Creature Capable Of Sensation.

Sweet Are The Slumbers Of The Virtuous Man.

Is There Not Some Chosen Curse, Some Hidden Thunder In The Stores Of Heaven, Red With Uncommon Wrath, To Blast The Man Who Owes His Greatness To His Country's Ruin!

The Religious Man Fears, The Man Of Honor Scorns, To Do An Ill Action.

It Is Impossible For Authors To Discover Beauties In One Another's Works; They Have Eyes Only For Spots And Blemishes.