A lively faith will bear aloft the mind, and leave the luggage of good works behind.
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.
Honor is but an empty bubble.
All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.