How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hate a man for being a friend to her.

Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

The world is a thing we must of necessity either laugh at or be angry at; if we laugh at it, they say we are proud; if we are angry at it, they say we are ill-natured.

Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.