There is a certain majesty in simplicity which is far above all the quaintness of wit.
Fools admire, but men of sense approve.
They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.
Hope springs eternal.
All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers; hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.