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Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
– Edward Young
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
Wishing of all employments is the worst.
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.
Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
They only babble who practise not reflection.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise.
There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
By all means use some time to be alone.
A Christian is the highest style of man.
The future… seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done.
Truth never was indebted to a lie.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Friendship’s the wine of life: but friendship new… is neither strong nor pure.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
Procrastination is the thief of time.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.
All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.
The house of laughter makes a house of woe.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform.