At thirty, man suspects himself a fool, Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty, chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve, In all the magnanimi ...
Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do.
None can keep alive his own soul.
Our days upon earth are a shadow.
To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.
Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature?
The character of a people may be ruined by charity.
