None but the brave deserve the fair.
I'm a little wounded, but I am not slain; I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I'll rise and fight again.
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!
The bravest men are subject most to chance.
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.
He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.