Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.

He was the man who of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. . . . He was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of books to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. . . . He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit degenerating in to clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great, when some occasion is presented to him.

He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.

Repartee is the soul of conversation.

He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.