Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.

The purpose firm is equal to the deed

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

Man maketh a death which Nature never made.

If we did but know how little some enjoy of the great things that they possess, there would not be much envy in the world.

Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.

Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.