The snow has at last melted, the fields regain their herbage, and the trees their leaves.

All singers have this fault: if asked to sing among friends they are never so inclined; if unasked, they never leave off.

Adversity is wont to reveal genius, prosperity to hide it.

Be prepared to go mad with fixed rule and method.

One Sallow does not make Summer.

There is nothing assured to mortals.

Mingle some brief folly with wisdom now: To be foolish is sweet at times.