Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.

Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.

Curse on all laws but those which love has made.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

In faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity.

Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?