A corrupt practice may be abolished, but a soiled imagination is not easily cleansed.
The wretch who digs the mine for bread, or ploughs, that others may be fed, feels less fatigued than that decreed to him who cannot think or read.
it is the modern nature of goodness to exert itself quietly, while a few characters of the opposite cast seem, by the rumor of their exploits, to fill the world; and by their noise to multiply their numbers.
No adulation; 'tis the death of virtue; Who flatters, is of all mankind the lowest Save he who courts the flattery.
Indeed, I have, alas! outlived almost every one of my contemporaries. One pays dear for living long.
Among the many evils which prevail under the sun, the abuse of words is not the least considerable. By the influence of time, and the perversion of fashion, the plainest and most unequivocal may be so altered, as to have a meaning assigned them almost diametrically opposite to their original signification.
The keen spirit Seizes the prompt occasion, makes the thought Start into instant action, and at once Plans and performs, resolves and executes!
Imagination frames events unknown, In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin, And what it fears creates.
There is scarcely any fault in another which offends us more than vanity, though perhaps there is none that really injures us so little.
Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs; Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease, And though but few can serve, yet all may please; On, let th' ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence.
nothing is more common than to mistake the sign for the thing itself; nor is any practice more frequent than that of endeavoring to acquire the exterior mark, without once thinking to labor after the interior grace.
A crown! what is it? It is to bear the miseries of a people! To hear their murmurs, feel their discontents, And sink beneath a load of splendid care!
Luxury and dissipation, soft and gentle as their approaches are, and silently as they throw their silken chains about the heart, enslave it more than the most active and turbulent vices
Resentment is an evil so costly to our peace that we should find it more cheap to forgive even were it no more right.
The artful injury, whose venomed dart scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart.
oblivion has been noticed as the offspring of silence.
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