Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

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

I as little fear that God will damn a man that has charity, as I hope that the priests can save one who has not.

Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.

Oh, blindness to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven.

The most positive men are the most credulous, since they most believe themselves, and advise most with their falsest flatterer and worst enemy--their own self-love.