Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead louers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?

The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand.

Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, and love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.

Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.

If I am asked 'what is good?' my answer is that good is good, and that is the end of the matter.