Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!
Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.