We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
Religion! what treasure untold resides in that heavenly word!
A man renowned for repartee will seldom scruple to make free with friendship's finest feeling, will thrust a dagger at your breast, and say he wounded you in jest, by way of balm for healing.
In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.