Alack Our Life, So Beautiful To See,

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.

Where You Are Is Of No Moment, But Only What You Are Doing There. It Is Not The Place That Ennobles You, But You The Place, And This Only By Doing That Which Is Great And Noble.

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

Virtue Is Health, Vice Is Sickness.

The Time Will Come When Every Change Shall Cease, This Quick Revolving Wheel Shall Rest In Peace: No Summer Then Shall Glow, Not Winter Freeze; Nothing Shall Be To Come, And Nothing Past, But An Eternal Now Shall Ever Last.