And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.

The search of our future being is but a needless, anxious, and haste to be knowing, sooner than we can, what, without all this solicitude, we shall know a little later.

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

False happiness is like false money; it passes for a time as well as the true, and serves some ordinary occasions; but when it is brought to the touch, we find the lightness and alloy, and feel the loss.

In death a hero, as in life a friend!