When guilt is in its blush of infancy, it trembles in a tenderness of shame; and the first eye that pierces through the veil that hides the secret brings it to the face
Lying's a certain mark of cowardice.
There is no courage but in innocence; no constancy but in an honest cause.
Pity is akin to love.
Words may be counterfeit, false coined, and current only from the tongue, without the mind; but passion is in the soul, and always speaks the heart.
The reconciling grave swallows distinction first, that made us foes; there all lie down in peace together.
An oath is a recognizance to heaven, binding us over in the courts above to plead to the indictment of our crimes.
Pity's akin to love; and every thought
Of that soft kind is welcome to my soul.
Distress is virtue's opportunity: we only live to teach us how to die.