None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
If one must be rejected, one succeed, make him my lord within whose faithful breast is fixed my image, and who loves me best.
Genius must be born, it can't be taught.
What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?