This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!

The man that blushes is not quite a brute.

All men think all men mortal, but themselves

The soft whispers of the God in man.

Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.