If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.