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

We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?

There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.

Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.

Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.