Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid

How convalescence shrinks a man back to his pristine stature! where is now the space, which he occupied so lately, in his own, in the family's eye?

O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!

The Muses were dumb while Apollo lectured.

His voice was the most obnoxious squeak I ever was tormented with.

I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.

The red-letter days, now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.