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Those spacious regions where our fancies roam, Pain'd by the past, expecting ills to come, In some dread moment, by the fates assign'd, Shall pass away, nor leave a rack behind; And Time's revolving wheels shall lose at last The speed that spins the future and the past: And, sovereign of an undisputed throne, Awful eternity shall reign alone.
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The greater I am, the greater shall be my efforts.
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Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief...
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Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive...
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Events appear sad, pleasant, or painful, not because they are so in reality, but because we believe them to be so and the light in which we look at them depends upon our own judgment.
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Suspicion is the cancer of friendship.
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There is no lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen.
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For virtue only finds eternal Fame.