The subtle sauce of malice is often indulged in by maidens of uncertain age, over their tea.

It is not he who searches for praise who finds it.

Opinions, theories, and systems pass by turns over the grindstone of time, which at first gives them brilliancy and sharpness, but finally wears them out.

Rumor, once started, rushes on like a river, until it mingles with, and is lost in the sea.

If poverty makes man groan, he yawns in opulence. When fortune exempts us from labor, nature overwhelms us with time.

Brave men do not boast nor bluster. Deeds, not words, speak for such.

The cunning tempter, by avoiding the grossness of vice, often silences objections.