How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.

A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.

In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, 'tis fixed as in a frost.

It is very natural for a young friend and a young lover to think the persons they love have nothing to do but to please them.

Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?