As long as the Fates permit, live cheerfully.

Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear; a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.

He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders himself obnoxious to his own reason; and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the man, and sets his two natures at variance.

The paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.

Heaven know its time; the bullet has its billet

Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the pat play.

Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!