I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?

A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, And shook within their pyramids to hear A new Cambyses thundering in their ear; While the dark shades of forty ages stood Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.

In solitude, where we are least alone.