Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.

Drink is the feast of reason and the flow of soul.

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.

For forms of government, let fools contest; Whate'er is best administered, is best.

When we are young, we are slavishly employed in procuring something whereby we may live comfortably when we grow old; and when we are old, we perceive it is too late to live as we proposed.

In this commonplace world every one is said to be romantic who either admires a fine thing or does one.