They first condemn that first advised the ill.
Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
And plenty makes us poor.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.