The house of laughter makes a house of woe.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
The first sure symptom of a mind in health Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home.
A prince indebted is a fortune made.
Wishing of all employments is the worst