It Is Not I Who Die, When

Pleasures, Riches, Honor And Joy Are Sure To Have Care, Disgrace, Adversity And Affliction In Their Train. There Is No Pleasure Without Pain, No Joy Without Sorrow. O The Folly Of Expecting Lasting Felicity In A Vale Of Tears, Or A Paradise In A Ruined World.

Nature Intended That Woman Should Be Her Masterpiece.

My God, Grant That My Bounty May Be A Clear And Transparent River, Flowing From Pure Charity, And Uncontaminated By Self-love, Ambition, Or Interest. Thanks Are Due Not To Me, But Thee, From Whom All I Possess Is Derived. And What Are The Paltry Gifts For Which My Neighbor Forgets To Thank Me, Compared With The Immense Blessings For Which I Have So Often Forgotten To Be Grateful To Thee!

The Superstition In Which We Grew Up, Though We May Recognize It, Does Not Lose Its Power Over Us.-not All Are Free Who Make Mock Of Their Chains.

Absolute Truth Belongs To Thee Alone.