Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul!
The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure-critics all are ready made. Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote With just enough learning to misquote.
Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.