Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

Truth never was indebted to a lie.

Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise.

Procrastination is the thief of time: Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene

The first sure symptom of a mind in health Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home.

The man that makes a character, makes foes.

Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.

All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.

The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.

I had looked for happiness in fast living, but it was not there. I tried to find it in money, but it was not there either.

Wonder is involuntary praise.

Friendship’s the wine of life: but friendship new… is neither strong nor pure.

Wishing of all employments is the worst.

The house of laughter makes a house of woe.

A foe to God was never true friend to man

A God all mercy is a God unjust.

An angel’s arm can’t snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can’t confine me there.

One to destroy, is murder by the law; and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands, takes a specious name, ‘War’s glorious art’, and gives immortal fame.

Wise it is to comprehend the whole.

Friendship is the wine of life.

None think the great unhappy, but the great.

A friend is worth all hazards we can run.

All men think all men mortal, but themselves.

A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

Affliction is a good man’s shining time.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

Still seems it strange, that thou shouldst live forever? Is it less strange, that thou shouldst live at all? This is a miracle; and that no more.

The course of Nature is the art of God.

The future… seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done.

At thirty a man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves;...

Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.

There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.

The purpose firm is equal to the deed.

By night an atheist half believes in a God.

By all means use some time to be alone.

Virtue alone has majesty in death.

Much learning shows how little mortals know; much wealth, how little wordings enjoy.

Less base the fear of death than fear of life.

Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform.

Procrastination is the thief of time.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.

A Christian is the highest style of man.

For her own breakfast she’ll project a scheme,Nor take her tea without a strategem.

The maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, and puts her trust in miracles for safety.

Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

The man that blushes is not quite a brute.

Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.

On the soft bed of luxury most kingdoms have expired.

Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.