I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My

No One Should Be Ashamed To Admit They Are Wrong, Which Is But Saying, In Other Words, That They Are Wiser Today Than They Were Yesterday.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

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.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

And Binding Nature Fast In Fate, Left Free The Human Will.