If you keep a thing seven years, you are sure to find a use for it.
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
All is possible for those who dare to die!
Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.
Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.
Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.