How delicious is pleasure after torment!
It is the crime not the scaffold which is the disgrace.
As for our gods, we have a few too many to be true.
Liberty may be of no more use Than stirring up the flame of civil wars; Then, by disorder fatal to the world, One wants no king, the other wants no equal.
Oh rage! Oh despair! Oh age, my enemy!
One doesn't wish to see those to whom one owes so much.