To die is landing on some distant shore.

The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.

Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.

Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light; but lucky men are favorites of heaven; all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.

Woman's honor is nice as ermine; it will not bear a soil.

Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.

A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.