Under the rose, since here are none but friends, To own the truth we have some private ends.
Ay, do despise me, I'm the prouder for it; I like to be despised.
War: that mad game the world so loves to play.
He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put into vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw, inclement summers.
Nothing is so great an instance of ill-manners as flattery.
My father had a small Estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the Third of five Sons.