I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure,- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Fortune, that with malicious joyDoes man her slave oppress,Proud of her office to destroy,Is seldom pleasd to bless.
He made all countries where he came his own.
They think too little who talk too much.