Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.

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

Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.

A prince indebted is a fortune made.

The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death; he walks with nature; and her paths are peace.

A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.