Happy the man to whom heaven has given a morsel of bread without laying him under the obligation of thanking any other for it than heaven itself.
He is mad past recovery, but yet he has lucid intervals.
Never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last.
Tis the only comfort of the miserable to have partners in their woes.
Miracle me no miracles.
There are men that will make you books, and turn them loose into the world, with as much dispatch as they would do a dish of fritters.