In grief we know the worst of what we feel, But who can tell the end of what we fear?
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.
Luxury! more perilous to youth than storms or quicksand, poverty or chains.
Love never reasons, but profusely gives; it gives like a thoughtless prodigal its all, and then trembles least it has done to little.
If faith produce no works, I see That faith is not a living tree. Thus faith and works together grow, No separate life they never can know. They're soul and body, hand and heart, What God hath joined, let no man part.
Genius without religion is only a lamp on the outer gate of a palace; it may serve to cast a gleam of light on those that are without, while the inhabitant sits in darkness.
