. . . this life is a perpetual chequer-work of good and evil, pleasure and pain. When in possession of what we desire, we are only so much the nearer losing it; and when at a distance from it, we live in expectation of enjoying it again.

There is no real evil in life, except great pain; all the rest is imaginary, and depends on the light in which we view things

It is the fine rain that soaks us through.

When we reckon without Providence, we must frequently reckon twice.

There is nobody who is not dangerous for someone.

There are twelve hours in the day, and above fifty in the night.

winter is past, and we have a prospect of spring that is superior to spring itself.