The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
I believe this earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions through which a moving crowd forever press.
Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
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.