Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never

Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.

My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

The best prophet of the future is the past.