“Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.”

The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.

Knowledge is proud that it knows so much; wisdom is humble that it knows no more.

This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life’s long race.

I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause.

The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

Books are not seldom talismans and spells.

Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.

I am out of humanity’s reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speech;I start at the sound of my own.

Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.

While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.

Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;

Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.

If you wish success in life, make perseverance your bosom friend.

If you wish to succeed in life, make perseverance your bosom friend, experience your wise counselor, caution your elder brother, and hope your guardian genius.

My father! The sun is my father, and the earth is my mother, and on her bosom I will recline.

They are gifted with the powers of being mothers, but not nursing mothers. Nature gives them bosoms for show, but not for use. So Lady Arabella had a wet-nurse.

America took me into her bosom when there was no longer a country worthy of the name, but in my heart I am German – German in my soul.

Joy all creatures drink At nature’s bosoms.