He that would soothe sorrow must not argue on the vanity of the most deceitful hopes.
It is more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!
All men who have turned out worth anything have had the chief hand in their own education.
Faces that have charmed us the most escape us the soonest.
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!