Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.

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

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!

A strange alternative * * *Must women have a doctor or a dance?

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.

Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.