When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.

Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?

One to destroy, is murder by the law; and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.

There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.

The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.

Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.

'T is impious in a good man to be sad.