At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.

The person of wisdom is the person of years.

An undevout astronomer is mad.

To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss.