'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.
Friendship's the wine of life.
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.
Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.