Be secret and discreet; the fairy favors are lost when not concealed.
The commendation of adversaries is the greatest triumph of a writer, because it never comes unless extorted.
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.