Opportunity, to statesmen, is as the just degree of heat to chemists; it perfects all the work.

I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?

Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite makes eating a delight.

Tis love in love that makes the sport.

Success is a rare paint, hides all the ugliness.

A quiet mediocrity is still to be preferred before a troubled superfluity.

Beauties that from worth arise are like the grace of deities.