A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.
Friendship's the wine of life.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!
The man of wisdom is the man of years.
Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.