We are always complaining that our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end to them.
The mind unlearns with difficulty what it has long learned.
Dead, we become the lumber of the world, And to that mass of matter shall be swept Where things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Genius always gives its best at first; prudence, at last.
Prudence and love cannot be mixed; you can end love, but never moderate it.
It is another's fault if he be ungrateful, but it is mine if I do not give. To find one thankful man, I will oblige a great many that are not so.