Absence, like death, sets a seal on the image of those we love: we cannot realize the intervening changes which time may have effected.

Novels teach the youthful mind to sigh after happiness that never existed.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.

Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain.

Silence gives consent.

The jests of the rich are ever successful.

Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.