The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.

Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.

Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.

The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done

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

A dedication is a wooden leg.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.