O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
Live now; be damn'd hereafter.
A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.