O month when they who love must love and wed.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

Most men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenness which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a hoe.

I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out.

O month when they who love must love and wed.