And plenty makes us poor.
What passion cannot music raise and quell!
Confidence is the feeling we have before knowing all the facts
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.