There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

Remorse begets reform.

His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock, it never is at home.

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.