Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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.
Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.