Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.

How vast a memory has Love!

The ruling passion, be it what it will. The ruling passion conquers reason still.

As with narrow-necked bottles; the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

The bookful blockhead ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails.