The world's a scene of changes.

This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.

Man is too near all kinds of beasts,--a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.

Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.

His time's forever, everywhere his place.

I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.

The monster London laugh at me.