I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.

The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.

The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.