'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.

Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.

A man I knew who lived upon a smile, And well it fed him; he look'd plump and fair, While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.

The maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, and puts her trust in miracles for safety.

As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.

Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.