Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish. - Aaron Hill

Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.

Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, And lose the medium in the wild extreme, Do not repent, but regulate your passion: Though love is reason, its excess is rage. Give me, at least, your promise to reflect, In cool, impartial solitude, and still. No last decision till we meet again.

Can my fond heart, on such a feeble proof, Embrace a faith, abhorred by him I love? I see too plainly custom forms us all; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed belief, Are consequences of our place of birth: Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan; In France, a Christian; I am here a Saracen: 'Tis but instruction, all! Our parents' hand Writes on our heart the first faint characters, Which time, re-tracing, deepens into strength, That nothing can efface, but death or Heaven.