Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
A happy genius is the gift of nature.
Love is not in our choice but in our fate.
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.