And, Dying, Bless The Hand That Gave

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

A Brave Man Scorns To Quarrel Once A Day; Like Hectors In At Every Petty Fray.

Great Souls Forgive Not Injuries Till Time Has Put Their Enemies Within Their Power, That They May Show Forgiveness Is Their Own.

Only Man Clogs His Happiness With Care, Destroying What Is With Thoughts Of What May Be.

He Was The Man Who Of All Modern, And Perhaps Ancient Poets, Had The Largest And Most Comprehensive Soul. . . . He Was Naturally Learn'd; He Needed Not The Spectacles Of Books To Read Nature; He Looked Inwards, And Found Her There. . . . He Is Many Times Flat, Insipid; His Comic Wit Degenerating In To Clenches, His Serious Swelling Into Bombast. But He Is Always Great, When Some Occasion Is Presented To Him.