Mankind are more indebted to industry than ingenuity; the gods set up their favors at a price, and industry is the purchaser.

There is no defence against reproach, but obscurity; it is a kind of concomitant to greatness, as satires and invectives were an essential part of a Roman triumph.

Love is a second life.

A state of temperance, sobriety and justice without devotion is a cold, lifeless, insipid condition of virtue, and is rather to be styled philosophy than religion.

It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are the more gentle and quiet we become towards the defects of others.

It is the privilege of posterity to set matters right between those antagonists who, by their rivalry for greatness, divided a whole age.

From hence, let fierce contending nations know, what dire effects from civil discord flow.