Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.

Confidence is the feeling we have before knowing all the facts

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

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

He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.

Dead men tell no tales.