The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.
For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.
Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.