Not Heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
Successful crimes alone are justified.
But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.