The house of laughter makes a house of woe.
Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?
On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
Friendship's the wine of life.
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.