Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
A prince indebted is a fortune made.
Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.
We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.
Too low they build who build below the skies.