Happiness is a sunbeam, which may pass though a thousand bosoms without losing a particle of its original ray.
Gold can gild a rotten stick, and dirt sully an ingot.
Solitude, the sly enemy that doth separate a man from well-doing.
There is a certain delicacy which in yielding conquers; and with a pitiful look makes one find cause to crave help one's self.
Commonly they must use their feet for defense whose only weapon is their tongue.
The journey of high honor lies not in smooth ways.