The only time you run out of chances is when you stop taking them

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart

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

Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice - A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.

Say first, of god above or man below; what can we reason but from what we know.

I believe no one qualification is so likely to make a good writer, as the power of rejecting his own thoughts.