Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.

The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.

All objects lose by too familiar a view.

Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.

A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.

Learn to write well, or not to write at all.