Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.

Men are but children of a larger growth.

When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!

Pleasure never comes sincere to man; but lent by heaven upon hard usury.

They first condemn that first advised the ill.

Swift was the race, but short the time to run.