Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.
We cry for mercy to the next amusement, The next amusement mortgages our fields
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
Ah! what is human life? How, like the dial's tardy-moving shade, Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd! The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too subtle is the movement to be seen; Yet soon the hour is up--and we are gone.
A land of levity is a land of guilt.