Tomorrow is an old deceiver, and his cheat never grows stale.

Come, let me know what it is that makes a Scotch man happy!

I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the menaces of a ruffian.

The faults of a man loved or honoured sometimes steal secretly and imperceptibly upon the wise and virtuous, but by injudicious fondness or thoughtless vanity are adopted with design.

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

In his comic scenes, Shakespeare seems to produce, without labor, what no labor can improve.

Such is the uncertainty of human affairs, that security and despair are equal follies; and as it is presumption and arrogance to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness and cowardice to prog-nosticate miscarriages.