Once a coxcomb, always a coxcomb.

An Italian philosopher said that "time was his estate"; an estate indeed which will produce nothing without cultivation, but will always abundantly repay the labors of industry, and generally satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie in waste by negligence, to be overrun with noxious plants, or laid out for show rather than for use.

The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendor cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate.

The wise man applauds he who he thinks most virtuous; the rest of the world applauds the wealthy.

A translator is to be like his author; it is not his business to excel him.

The highest panegyric, therefore, that private virtue can receive, is the praise of servants.

I should as soon think of contradicting a bishop