Were it not for imagination a man would be as happy in the arms of a chambermaid as of a duchess.

Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise.

His scorn of the great is repeated too often to be real; no man thinks much of that which he despises.

Philosophers there are who try to make themselves believe that this life is happy; but they believe it only while they are saying it, and never yet produced conviction in a single mind.

The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

The present is never a happy state to any human being.

He who praises everybody, praises nobody.