Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.

Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.

O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken.

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.