Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.