William Mason

There is a solemn luxury in grief.

Vain is the hope by coloring to display, the bright effulgence of the noontide ray or paint the full-orb'd ruler of the skies with pencils dipt in dull terrestrial dyes.

We know there oft is found an avarice in grief; and the wan eye of sorrow loves to gaze upon its secret hoard of treasured woes, and pine in solitude.

With what a heavy and retarding weight does expectation load the wing of time.

There is a grace in wild variety surpassing rule and order.

Lust is a vice sooner condemned than banished.

Waste is not grandeur.