But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

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.

Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.

Great oaks grow from little acorns. He has a green thumb. He has green fingers. He's sowing his wild oats. Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.

I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.