Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; But every woman is at heart a rake.
The enormous faith of many made for one.
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hate a man for being a friend to her.
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!