The Keen Spirit Seizes The

How Short Is Human Life! The Very Breath Which Frames My Words Accelerates My Death.

We Contrive To Make Revenge Itself Look Like Religion. We Call Down Thunder On Many A Head Under Pretence, That Those On Whom We Invoke It Are God's Enemies, When Perhaps We Invoke It Because They Are Ours.

The Uncandid Censurer Always Picks Out The Worst Man Of A Class, And Then Confidently Produces Him As Being A Fair Specimen Of It.

Strange! That What Is Enjoyed Without Pleasure Cannot Be Discontinued Without Pain!

Wisdom Views With An Indifferent Eye All Finite Joys, All Blessings Born To Die.