A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.

Poetry should only occupy the idle.

That low vice, curiosity!

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.

They never fail who die in a great cause.