Truth never was indebted to a lie
'T is impious in a good man to be sad.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.
Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps; And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.