We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.

Knowledge is proud that it knows so much; wisdom is humble that it knows no more.

A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.

The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.

But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.

O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!