Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.
Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.