When A Man Has Been

A Good Conscience Is To The Soul What Health Is To The Body; It Preserves Constant Ease And Serenity Within Us; And More Than Countervails All The Calamities And Afflictions Which Can Befall Us From Without.

The Soul, Considered With Its Creator, Is Like One Of Those Mathematical Lines That May Draw Nearer To Another For All Eternity Without A Possibility Of Touching It; And Can There Be A Thought So Transporting As To Consider Ourselves In These Perpetual Approaches To Him, Who Is Not Only The Standard Of Perfection, But Of Happiness?

A Perfect Tragedy Is The Noblest Production Of Human Nature.

Supposing All The Great Points Of Atheism Were Formed Into A Kind Of Creed, I Would Fain Ask Whether It Would Not Require An Infinite Greater Measure Of Faith Than Any Set Of Articles Which They So Violently Oppose.

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!