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.

Friendship's the wine of life.

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.

Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.

Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.