And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
But love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.
To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain.
By night an atheist half-believes in God.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.
There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small; because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.