Nothing Is More Amiable Than

A Common Civility To An Impertinent Fellow, Often Draws Upon One A Great Many Unforeseen Troubles; And If One Doth Not Take Particular Care, Will Be Interpreted By Him As An Overture Of Friendship And Intimacy.

I Consider An Human Soul Without Education Like Marble In The Quarry, Which Shows None Of Its Inherent Beauties Till The Skill Of The Polisher Fetches Out The Colours, Makes The Surface Shine, And Discovers Every Ornamental Cloud, Spot And Vein That Runs Through The Body Of It.

It Must Be So,-plato, Thou Reasonest Well! Else Whence This Pleasing Hope, This Fond Desire, This Longing After Immortality? Or Whence This Secret Dread And Inward Horror Of Falling Into Naught? Why Shrinks The Soul Back On Herself, And Startles At Destruction? 't Is The Divinity That Stirs Within Us; 't Is Heaven Itself That Points Out An Hereafter, And Intimates Eternity To Man. Eternity! Thou Pleasing, Dreadful Thought!

Nothing That Isn't A Real Crime Makes A Man Appear So Contemptible And Little In The Eyes Of The World As Inconsistency.

Nothing Lies On Our Hands With Such Uneasiness As Time. Wretched And Thoughtless Creatures! In The Only Place Where Covetousness Were A Virtue We Turn Prodigals.