Memory, Bosom-spring Of Joy.

How Many Of Our Virtues Originate In The Fear Of Death & That While We Flatter Ourselves That We Are Melting In Christian Sensibility Over The Sorrows Of Our Human Brethren And Sisteren, We Are In Fact, Tho' Perhaps Unconsciously, Moved At The Prospect Of Our Own End For Who Sincerely Pities Sea-sickness, Toothache, Or A Fit Of The Gout In A Lusty Good-liver Of 50?

Our Quaint Metaphysical Opinions, In An Hour Of Anguish, Are Like Playthings By The Bedside Of A Child Deathly Sick.

As There Is Much Beast And Some Devil In Man, So Is There Some Angel And Some God In Him. The Beast And The Devil May Be Conquered, But In This Life Never Destroyed.

Motives Are Symptoms Of Weakness, And Supplements For The Deficient Energy Of The Living Principle, The Law Within Us. Let Them Then Be Reserved For Those Momentous Acts And Duties In Which The Strongest And Best-balanced Natures Must Feel Themselves Deficient, And Where Humility No Less Than Prudence Prescribes Deliberation.

Is Duty A Mere Sport, Or An Employ! Life An Entrusted Talent Or A Toy!