The person of wisdom is the person of years.

What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!

Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?

'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.