Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
A Christian is the highest style of man.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
Live now; be damn'd hereafter.
We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?