Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.
Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate.
One science only will one genius fit; so vast is art, so narrow human wit.
All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.
A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.