Each age has deemed the new-born year the fittest time for festal cheer.
Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.
As long as the Fates permit, live cheerfully.
One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.
It is a great disgrace to religion, to imagine that it is an enemy to mirth and cheerfulness, and a severe exacter of pensive looks and solemn faces.