Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.

Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.

The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.

Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.