Wisdom to gold prefer; for 'tis much less to make our fortune than our happiness.
Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; part with it as with money, sparing; pay no moment but in purchase of its worth, and what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
The wretched impotence of gold.
This prospect vast, what is it? ? weigh'd aright, 'Tis nature's system of divinity, And every student of the night inspires. 'Tis elder scripture, writ by God's own hand: Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.
Time on his head has snowed, yet still 'tis borne aloft.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform, and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
We push time from us, and we wish him back? Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.
Whate'er th' Almighty's subsequent command, His first command is this - "Man, love thyself."
Who borrow much, then fairly make it known, and damn it with improvements of their own.
Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines, and sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, what is she, but the means of happiness? That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool.
Their feet through faithless leather met the dirt, and oftener chang'd their principles than shirt.
This sacred shade and solitude, what is it? It is the felt presence of the Deity. - Few are the faults we flatter when alone. - By night an atheist half believes a God.
'Tis great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise; it shows our spirit, or it proves our strength.
Too low they build who build beneath the stars.
We rise in glory, as we sink in pride: where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
Whatever farce the boastful hero plays, Virtue alone has majesty in death.
Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.
Wise it is to comprehend the whole.
Their methods various, but alike their aim; the sloven and the fopling are the same.
Those who build beneath the stars build too low.
'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours and ask them what report they bore to heaven, and how they might have borne more welcome news.
Triflers not even in trifles can excel.
We see time?s furrows on another?s brow, and death intrench?d, preparing his assault; how few themselves in that just mirror see!
Whatever other learning he wanted, he was master of two books unknown to many profound readers, though books which the last conflagration can alone destroy,--I mean the book of nature and that of man.
Who does the best his circumstances allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could do no more.