The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.

Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.

Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love; though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.

The mind doth shape itself to its own wants, and can bear all things.

Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.

Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.