The man that makes a character, makes foes.
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
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.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.