A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind; and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
Love is not in our choice but in our fate.
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
War is the trade of kings.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.