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!

Monuments, like men, submit to fate.

The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife gives all the strength and color of our life.

The lot of man - to suffer and to die.

It is very natural for a young friend and a young lover to think the persons they love have nothing to do but to please them.

When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough to build me a monument if there were a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive and seeing another enjoy it.

Every woman is at heart a rake.