Oh, what a vileness human beauty is; corroding, corrupting everything it touches.
The stillest tongue can be the truest friend.
I envy that man who passes through life safely, to the world and fame unknown.
Love must not touch the marrow of the soul. Our affections must be breakable chains that we can cast them off or tighten them.
Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, a herb most bruised is woman.
For the good, when praised, feel something of disgust, if to excess commended.