Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.

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

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

Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.

Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine; It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.

Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he, who can call today his own.