The Gloomy Months Of November, When The

With What Astonishment And Veneration May We Look Into Our Own Souls, Where There Are Such Hidden Stores Of Virtue And Knowledge, Such Inexhaustible Sources Of Perfection. We Know Not Yet What We Shall Be, Nor Will It Ever Enter Into The Heart To Conceive The Glory That Will Be Always In Reserve For It.

Were A Man's Sorrows And Disquietudes Summed Up At The End Of His Life, It Would Generally Be Found That He Had Suffered More From The Apprehension Of Such Evils As Never Happened To Him Than From Those Evils Which Had Really Befallen Him.

The Greatest Sweetener Of Human Life Is Friendship. To Raise This To The Highest Pitch Of Enjoyment, Is A Secret Which But Few Discover.

I Consider An Human Soul Without Education Like Marble In The Quarry, Which Shows None Of Its Inherent Beauties Till The Skill Of The Polisher Fetches Out The Colours, Makes The Surface Shine, And Discovers Every Ornamental Cloud, Spot And Vein That Runs Through The Body Of It.

What Can Be Nobler Than The Idea It Gives Us Of The Supreme Being?