The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.

In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom; but he who reflects not, never reaps; has no harvest from it, but carries the burden of age without the wages of experience; nor knows himself old, but from his infirmities, the parish register, and the contempt of mankind. And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.

Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.

Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.