“Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of fate are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.”

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

What precious drops are those, Which silently each other’s track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their faint dew?

Few know the use of life before ’tis past.

A happy genius is the gift of nature.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature’s eye.

And that the Scriptures, though not everywhere Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire In all things which our needful faith require.

Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.

Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more; Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate’s: Souls know no conquerors.

Love is love’s reward.

Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.

There is a proud modesty in merit.

All empire is no more than power in trust.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.

The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.

Faith is to believe what you do not yet see: the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.