When much dispute has past, we find our tenets just the same as last.

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

Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear; 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.

Some people will never learn anything, for this reason, because they understand everything too soon.

But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie; for an excuse is a lie guarded.

Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.