Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.

Lend, Lend Your Wings! I Mount! I Fly! O Grave! Where Is Thy Victory? O Death! Where Is Thy Sting?

Ten Censure Wrong For One Who Writes Amiss.

Sickness Is A Sort Of Early Old Age; It Teaches Us A Diffidence In Our Earthly State.

The Muse But Serv'd To Ease Some Friend, Not Wife, / To Help Me Through This Long Disease, My Life.