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

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

Repentance is but want of power to sin.

Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections.

It is a madness to make fortune the mistress of events, because in herself she is nothing, can rule nothing, but is ruled by prudence.

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.

Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.