No Adulation; 'tis The Death

The Modes Of Speech Are Scarcely More Variable Than The Modes Of Silence.

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest, Compelled To Starve At An Unreal Feast: A Spark, Which Upward Tends By Nature's Force: A Stream Diverted From Its Parent Source; A Drop Dissever'd From The Boundless Sea; A Moment, Parted From Eternity; A Pilgrim Panting For The Rest To Come; An Exile, Anxious For His Native Home.

A Slowness To Applaud Betrays A Cold Temper Or An Envious Spirit.

Luxury! More Perilous To Youth Than Storms Or Quicksand, Poverty Or Chains.

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