“The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue; the only lasting treasure, truth.”

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

He that has seen both sides of fifty has lived to little purpose if he has no other views of the world than he had when he was much younger.

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

An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes as when it stands.

If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.

Existence is a strange bargain. Life owes us little; we owe it everything.

What peaceful hours I once enjoy’d! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.

Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others’ bare.

Pride made the devil, and the devil made sin; So God made a cole-pit to put the devil in.

God made bees, and bees made honey, God made man, and man made money,

Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.

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

The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.

I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar; / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy’s door.

Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.