The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally found, at last, to be of our own producing.

Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

An emperor in his nightcap will not meet with half the respect of an emperor with a crown.

Pity and friendship are two passions incompatible with each other.

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

You will always find that those are most apt to boast of national merit, who have little or not merit of their own to depend on . . .

Both wit and understanding are trifles without integrity.