We gentlemen, whose chariot's roll only upon the four aces, are apt to have a wheel out of order.

The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it, is intolerable.

A slighted woman knows no bounds.

Friendship's said to be a plant of tedious growth, its root composed of tender fibers, nice in their taste, cautious in spreading.

Virtue is its own reward. There's a pleasure in doing good which sufficiently pays itself.

True virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsic worth about it.

Custom is the law of fools.