Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.
Procrastination is the thief of time: Year after year it steals, till all are fled.
An undevout astronomer is mad.
Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.
'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.