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.

A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

And friend received with thumps upon the back.

There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.

Virtue alone has majesty in death.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.