But love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
A Christian is the highest style of man.
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.