Fortune's unjust; she ruins oft the brave, and him who should be victor, makes the slave.

She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.

Some of our philosophizing divines have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out God.

The conscience of a people is their power.

To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.

The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.

If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.