Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.

Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.

All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

Truth never was indebted to a lie

When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees

Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps; And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.