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.

Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection; and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies; the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.

By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Dead men tell no tales.