He wins every hand who mingles profit with pleasure.
Deep in the cavern of the infant's breast; the father's nature lurks, and lives anew.
There are calumnies against which even innocence loses courage.
Drive Nature out with a pitchfork, yet she hurries back, And will burst through your foolish contempt, triumphant.
The populace may hiss me, but when I go home and think of my money, I applaud myself.
How slight and insignificant is the thing which casts down or restores a mind greedy for praise.