Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
The best things carried to excess are wrong.
The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill; Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.
With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense
The danger chiefly lies in acting well; no crime's so great as daring to excel.