The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
The man that makes a character, makes foes.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue; walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.