To what fortuitous occurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience of our lives.

He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them back.

The first blow is half the battle.

The ingratitude of the world can never deprive us of the conscious happiness of having acted with humanity ourselves.

Conscience is a coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent it seldom has justice enough to accuse.

Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.

No one but a fool would measure their satisfaction by what the world thinks of it.