The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
We live by admiration, hope and love.
Dreams, books, are each a world.
What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?