For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.

For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.

For those whom God to ruin has design'd, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.

Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more; Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate's: Souls know no conquerors.

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

Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.

Successful crimes alone are justified.