Nature delights in progress; in advance.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

Prayer ardent opens heaven.

Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.

The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.

The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done