Do you suppose there is any living man so unreasonable that if he found himself stricken with a dangerous ailment he would not anxiously desire to regain the blessing of health?

Alack our life, so beautiful to see, With how much ease life losest, in a day, What many years with pain and toil amassed!

Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief

I rejoiced in my progress, mourned my weaknesses, and commiserated the universal instability of human conduct.

Hope is incredible to the slave of grief.

Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.

Sameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.