Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.

Here lies interred in the eternity of the past, from whence there is no resurrection for the days - whatever there may be for the dust - the thirty-third year of an ill-spent life, which, after a lingering disease of many months sank into a lethargy, and expired, January 22d, 1821, A.D. leaving a successor inconsolable for the very loss which occasioned its existence.

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

Sweet is revenge-especially to women.

Come what may, I have been blest.

Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.

Despair and Genius are too oft connected