Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.

And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure, In small fine china cups, came in at last. Gold cups of filigree, made to secure the hand from burning, underneath them place. Cloves, cinnamon and saffron, too, were boiled Up with the coffee, which, I think, they spoiled.

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.