When The Cup Of Any Sensual Pleasure

Our Griefs, As Well As Our Joys, Owe Their Strongest Colors To Our Imaginations. There Is Nothing So Grievous To Be Borne That Pondering Upon It Will Not Make It Heavier; And There Is No Pleasure So Vivid That The Animation Of Fancy Cannot Liven It.

Goodness Is Equally Hateful To The Wicked, As Vice Is To The Virtuous.

The Platform Or The Altar Of Love May Be Analyzed And Explained; It Is Constructed Of Virtue, Beauty, And Affection. Such Is The Pyre, Such Is The Offering; But The Ethereal Spark Must Come From Heaven, That Lights The Sacrifice.

He That Easily Believes Rumors Has The Principle Within Him To Augment Rumors. It Is Strange To See The Ravenous Appetite With Which Some Devourers Of Character And Happiness Fix Upon The Sides Of The Innocent And Unfortunate.

Virtue Is Despotic; Life, Reputation, Every Earthly Good, Must Be Surrendered At Her Voice. The Law May Seem Hard, But It Is The Guardian Of What It Commands; And Is The Only Sure Defence Of Happiness.