Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year.
O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
The devil was the first democrat
Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?