Date: 1746, 1753

"The SOUL, inhabiting the Brain, or acting, where it doubtless does, immediately behind the Optic Nerves, stamps, instantaneously upon the Eye, and Eyebrow, a struck Image of conceiv'd Idea: And that in Fact it does This, and that it does it, in the very Instant of Conception, every Man must ever...

— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)

Date: 1746, 1753

Love "'Tis like soft air, through which admitted light / Peoples pleas'd fancy, and lends shape to sight: / Yet, like that air, disturb'd, man's quiet breaks, / Tempests his reason, and his triumph shakes."

— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)

Date: 1746

One's sires's "great soul" may respire in one's breast

— Ruffhead, James

Date: 1746

"All raving Passions soon wou'd be supprest" is man cou'd "but thro' eternity pervade"

— Ruffhead, James

Date: 1747

"Come, sinners, to the gospel feast, / Let every soul be Jesu's guest"

— Wesley, John and Charles

Date: 1751, 1791

"The passions are a num'rous crowd, / Imperious, positive, and loud: / Curb these licentious sons of strife; / Hence chiefly rise the storms of life: / If they grow mutinous, and rave, / They are thy masters, thou their slave."

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1752, 1791

"This home philosophy, you know, / Was priz'd some thousand years ago. / Then why abroad a frequent guest? / Why such a stranger to your breast?"

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1752, 1791

"Life's records rise on ev'ry side, / And Conscience spreads those volumes wide; / Which faithful registers were brought / By pale-ey'd Fear and busy Thought. / Those faults which artful men conceal, / Stand here engrav'd with pen of steel, / By Conscience, that impartial scribe!"

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1753

Locke's "guiding Hand th'ideal Blank explores, / And opens wide the Senses' various Doors, / Thro' which the thronging Thoughts their Passage find, / In social Tribes, and stock the peopled Mind."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

Date: 1753, 1770

"Tho' liv'd he now he might appeal with scorn / To Lords, Knights, 'Squires and Doctors, yet unborn; / Or justly mad to Moloch's burning fane / Devote the choicest children of his brain."

— Armstrong, John (1708/9-1779)