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To waft a feather or to drown a fly.
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'T is elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand,-Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.
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Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.
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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
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Heaven’s Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.
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Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,With whom revenge is virtue.
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The spirit walks of every day deceased.
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Be wise today; 'tis madness to defer.
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All men think all men mortal but themselves.
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And all may do what has by man been done.
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Insatiate archer! could not one suffice?Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain;And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
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Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,She sparkled, was exhal'd and went to heaven.
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A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
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The blood will follow where the knife is driven,The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
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Unlearned men of books assume the care,As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair.
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We see time’s furrows on another’s brow,And death intrench’d, preparing his assault;How few themselves in that just mirror see!
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Where Nature’s end of language is declin’d,And men talk only to conceal the mind.
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Procrastination is the thief of time.
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Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
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In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.
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The chamber where the good man meets his fateIs privileg’d beyond the common walkOf virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
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A soul without reflection, like a pileWithout inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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A death-bed ’s a detector of the heart.
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Truth never was indebted to a lie.