Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.

O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!

There is a vulgar incredulity, which in historical matters, as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than to examine.

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

Where shall the lover rest,_x000D_ _x000D_ Whom the fates sever_x000D_ _x000D_ From his true maiden's breast,_x000D_ _x000D_ Parted for ever?_x000D_ _x000D_ Where, through groves deep and high,_x000D_ _x000D_ Sounds the far billow,_x000D_ _x000D_ Where early violets die,_x000D_ _x000D_ Under the willow.