As long as the Fates permit, live cheerfully.

Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear; a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.

Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.

O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!

What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it.

Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.