To the last moment of his breath, On hope the wretch relies; And even the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, 'Twas only when he was off, he was acting.

Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.

The first blow is half the battle.

The loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

There is nothing magnanimous in bearing misfortunes with fortitude, when the whole world is looking on.... He who, without friends to encourage or even without hope to alleviate his misfortunes, can behave with tranquility and indifference, is truly great.

Prudery is ignorance.