The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.

Made poetry a mere mechanic art.

A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; The language plain, and incidents well link'd; Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows; and, new or old, still hasten to a close.

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

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.

To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.