Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Virtue alone has majesty in death.

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

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.

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.

Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.

It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!