Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.

He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.

Nothing but what astonishes is true.

Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.

The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.