Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.

Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.

A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.

It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.

The French courage proceeds from vanity

Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures; And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader; Some by a place--as tend their years or natures; The most by ready cash--but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.