What pity 'tis, one that can speak so well, Should in his actions be so ill!

Malice scorned, puts out itself; but argued, give a kind of credit to a false accusation.

The soul is strong that trusts in goodness.

Tis the only discipline we are born for; all studies else are but as circular lines, and death the center where they all must meet.

0 summer friendship, whose flat-tering leaves shadowed us in our prosperity, With the least gust, drop off in the autumn of adversity.

Be wise; soar not too high to fall; but stoop to rise.

We have not an hour of life in which our pleasures relish not some pain, our sours, some sweetness.