Nobility, Without Virtue, Is A

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.

The Only Impregnable Citadel Of Virtue Is Religion; For There Is No Bulwark Of Mere Morality, Which Some Temptation May Not Overtop Or Undermine, And Destroy.

In The Career Of Female Fame, There Are Few Prizes To Tie Obtained Which Can Vie With The Obscure State Of A Beloved Wife Or A Happy Mother.

Any Base Heart Can Devise Means Of Vileness, And Affix The Ugly Shapings Of Its Own Fancy To The Actions Of Those Around Him; But It Requires Loftiness Of Mind, And The Heaven-born Spirit Of Virtue, To Imagine Greatness Where It Is Not, And To Deck The Sordid Objects Of Nature In The Beautiful Robes Of Loveliness And Light.

The Fruition Of What Is Unlawful Must Be Followed By Remorse. The Core Sticks In The Throat After The Apple Is Eaten, And The Sated Appetite Loathes The Interdicted Pleasure For Which Innocence Was Bartered.