Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!

'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor ; who lives to fancy, never can be rich.

What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.

He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.