Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.

Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.

…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

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.