Our birth is nothing but our death begun; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.
A prince indebted is a fortune made.
They only babble who practise not reflection
What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.