Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.

They live too long who happiness outlive.

The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.

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.

Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.

Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.

There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.