Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

I have seen a thousand graves opened, and always perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and hair remained of those who had died with them. Is not this odd? They go the very first things in youth and yet last the longest in the dust.