If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
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.
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
Discover the opinion of your enemies, which is commonly the truest; for they will give you no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.