A Christian is the highest style of man.
Nothing but what astonishes is true.
Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.