If thou dost still retain the same ill habits, the same follies, too, still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.

Deathless laurel is the victor's due.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.

Honor is but an empty bubble.

A happy genius is the gift of nature.

And plenty makes us poor.

When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.