Most women have no characters at all.
Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.
Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There is no study that is not capable of delighting us after a little application to it.