Who Pants For Glory, Finds

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast: Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

A Man Who Admires A Fine Woman, Has Yet Not More Reason To Wish Himself Her Husband, Than One Who Admired The Hesperian Fruit, Would Have Had To Wish Himself The Dragon That Kept It.

What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In Others' Breath.