On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.

What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.

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.

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