Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
Time elaborately thrown away.
Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise