Action is the highest perfection and drawing forth of the utmost power, vigor, and activity of man's nature. |
Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, gnawing and creeping into it, as that does which at last eats out the very heart and substance of the metal. |
Most of the appearance of mirth in the world is not mirth, it is art. The wounded spirit is not seen, but walks under a disguise. |
Passion is the drunkenness of the mind. |
Wonder is from surprise, and surprise stops with experience. |