Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

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.

What is revenge but courage to call in our honor's debts, and wisdom to convert others' self-love into our own protection?

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.