In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?
Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.
A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.