To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
Fill it up. I take as large draughts of liquor as I did of love. I hate a flincher in either.
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then; Ten thousands are devour'd by men. An open foe may prove a curse, but a pretend friend is worse.
A woman's friendship ever ends in love.
In beauty faults conspicuous grow; The smallest speck is seen on snow.
How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!