The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife gives all the strength and color of our life.

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

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

Is not absence death to those who love?

The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.

Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.

A God without dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing else but fate and nature.