Man wants little, nor that little long.
Praise, more divine than prayer; prayer points our ready path to heaven; praise is already there.
The man of wisdom is the man of years.
Friendship's the wine of life.
Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels; how heavily we drag the load of life!
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.