“Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.”

Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.

Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.

Let never man be bold enough to say, Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray: The first crime, past, compels us into more, And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before.

Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.

Customs form us all, our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed beliefs; are consequences of our place of birth.

Hide not thy tears; weep boldly, and be proud to give the flowing virtue manly way; it is nature’s mark to know an honest heart by.

O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.

Shun fear, it is the ague of the soul! a passion man created for himself–for sure that cramp of nature could not dwell in the warm realms of glory.

Reason gains all people by compelling none.

Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.

The man with but one idea in his head is sure to exaggerate that to top-heaviness, and thus he loses his equilibrium.

First, then, a woman will, or won’t, – depend on’t; If she will do’t, she will; and there’s an end on’t. But, if she won’t, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.

Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.

Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another’s sorrow.

Law that shocks equity is reason’s murderer.

Order, thou eye of action.