Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.

Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.

What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?

Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.

The world's a scene of changes.

Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.

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