When it draws near to witching time of night.

Our time is fixed, and all our days are number'd How long, how short, we know not:—this we know, Duty requires we calmly wait the summons, Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission.

Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.

Action, so to speak, is the genius of nature.

Affectation is certain deformity by forming themselves on fantastic models, the young begin with being ridiculous, and often end in being vicious.

Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.

How shocking must thy summons be, O death, to him that is at ease in his possessions! who, counting on long years of pleasure here, is quite unfurnished for the world to come.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit, That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, And gives it a new pulse unknown before!

How blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver in comparison with those of guilt.

The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame, Die fast away: only themselves die faster. The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurell'd bard, Those bold insurancers of deathless fame, Supply their little feeble aids in vain.

Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. He who is a stranger to it may possess, but cannot enjoy, for it is labor only which gives relish to pleasure. It is the indispensable condition of possessing a sound mind in a sound body, and it is the appointed vehicle of every good to man.

The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness.

Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance