Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.

The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?

Great souls forgive not injuries till time has put their enemies within their power, that they may show forgiveness is their own.

Virtue is her own reward.

Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.

Nor is the people's judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.

Whatever is, is in its causes just.