Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.
He who meditates a crime secretly within himself has all the guilt of the act.
The smell of profit is clean and sweet, whatever the source.
It is a wretched thing to live on the fame of others.
The doings of men, their prayers, fear, wrath, pleasure, delights, and recreations, are the subject of this book.
Censure pardons the ravens but rebukes the doves. [The innocent are punished and the wicked escape.]