Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.

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.

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

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

With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!

Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.