With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.

Truth never was indebted to a lie

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man! Distinguished link in being's endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity! Dim miniature of greatness absolute! An heir of glory! A frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! Insect infinite! A worm! A God!

Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels; how heavily we drag the load of life!

The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.