He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise the other.

That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.

Truth is never to be expected from authors whose understanding is warped with enthusiasm.

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.

For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.