Monuments, Like Men, Submit To Fate.

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

O Happiness! Our Being's End And Aim! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! Whate'er Thy Name: That Something Still Which Prompts The Eternal Sigh, For Which We Bear To Live, Or Dare To Die.

A Family Is But Too Often A Commonwealth Of Malignants.

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

This Long Disease, My Life.