Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.

A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.

How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another's misfortunes perfectly like a Christian.

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.

Beauty draws us with a single hair.