To leave a sting within a brother's heart.
Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heaven invites, Hell threatens.
The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
We take no note of time but from its loss.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Nor take her tea without a stratagem.
And all may do what has by man been done.
Procrastination is the thief of time. Night Thoughts
Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay.
The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and An honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death he walks with nature and her paths are peace.
We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault How few themselves in that just mirror see.
Their feet through faithless leather met the dirt, And oftener chang'd their principles than shirt.
They build too low who build beneath the skies.
To know the world, not love her, is thy point She gives but little, nor that little, long.
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
Man's rich with little, were his judgment true Nature is frugal, and her wants are few These few wants answered bring sincere delights But fools create themselves new appetites.
Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more, As stars from absent suns have leave to shine.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts noblyangels could no more.
Can wealth give happiness Look round and see What gay distress what splendid misery Whatever fortunes lavishly can pour, The mind annihilates, and calls for more.
The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
Wishing of all employments is the worst.
Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
What is this world Thy school, O misery Our only lesson is to learn to suffer.
For who does nothing with a better grace.
Learning makes a man fit company for himself.
Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
William Wordsworth - Virgil - Robert Frost - Dante Alighieri - Alexander Pope - William Somerville - Sophocles - Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Novalis - Edward Young