We are not all great because we are inspired, but we feel great because we are.

We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.

Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!

In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom; but he who reflects not, never reaps; has no harvest from it, but carries the burden of age without the wages of experience; nor knows himself old, but from his infirmities, the parish register, and the contempt of mankind. And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.