Live now; be damn'd hereafter.

They build too low who build beneath the skies.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

Give me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.