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

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.

Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.

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

The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.

Mighty things from small beginnings grow.

No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.