Thou hast seen many sorrows, travel-stained pilgrim of the world, But that which hath vexed thee most, hath been the looking for evil; And though calamities have crossed thee, and misery been heaped on thy head, Yet ills that never happened, have chiefly made thee wretched.

Men scanning the surface count the wicked happy; they see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow.

O Death, what are thou? nurse of dreamless slumbers freshening the fevered flesh to a wakefulness eternal.

Extravagance is the rich man's pitfall.

A man looketh on his little one as a being of better hope; in himself ambition is dead, but it bath a resurrection in his son.

Deceit and treachery skulk with hatred, but an honest spirit flieth with anger.

Hope and be happy that all's for the best!