Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

There is but one way I know of conversing safely with all men; that is, not by concealing what we say or do, but by saying or doing nothing that deserves to be concealed.

Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear; 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.

The season when to come, and when to go, to sing, or cease to sing, we never know.

How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?