Every Man's Affairs, However Little, Are Important

Sorrow Is A Kind Of Rust Of The Soul, Which Every New Idea Contributes In Its Passage To Scour Away. It Is The Putrefaction Of Stagnant Life, And Is Remedied By Exercise And Motion.

Man Is A Transitory Being, And His Designs Must Partake Of The Imperfections Their Author.

He Left The Name At Which The World Grew Pale, To Point A Moral, Or Adorn A Tale.

I Know Not Any Crime So Great That A Man Could Contrive To Commit As Poisoning The Sources Of Eternal Truth.

There Is No Wisdom In Useless And Hopeless Sorrow, But There Is Something In It So Like Virtue, That He Who Is Wholly Without It Cannot Be Loved.