Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.

Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.

What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!

Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.

I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

Live now; be damn'd hereafter.