Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
Wonder is involuntary praise.
Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.
The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.