Midway from Nothing to the Deity!

To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

Friendship's the wine of life.

An undevout astronomer is mad.

If we did but know how little some enjoy of the great things that they possess, there would not be much envy in the world.

And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?