A dedication is a wooden leg.

With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue; walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.

In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom... And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.