The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
"One impulse from a vernal wood
Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.