Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.
As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.
What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
We are not all great because we are inspired, but we feel great because we are.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!