Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death; he walks with nature; and her paths are peace.

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

Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.