Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

The tomb is the pedestal of greatness. I make a distinction between God's great and the king's great.

Those who speak against the great do not usually speak from morality, but from envy.

The moderate are not usually the most sincere, for the same circumspection which makes them moderate makes them likewise retentive of what could give offence.

O Music! how it grieves me that imprudence, intemperance, gluttony, should open their channels into thy sacred stream.

Children are what the mothers are.