Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.

Idleness induces caprice.

The path of nature is, indeed, a narrow one, and it is only the immortals that seek it, and, when they find it, do not find themselves cramped therein.

Silence is sorrow's best food.

But life is sweet, though all that makes it sweet. Lessen like sound of friends departing feet; And death is beautiful as feet of friend. Coming with welcome at our journey's end.

Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face.

That love for one, from which there doth not spring Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing.