One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.
Live now; be damn'd hereafter.
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.