Have consideration for wounded feelings.
O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
It is the mind that makes the man, and our vigour is in our immortal soul.
Winged time glides on insensibly, and deceive us; and there is nothing more fleeting than years.
Tis you, alone, can save, or give my doom.
It is some alleviation to ills we cannot cure to speak of them.