Meat eaten without either mirth or music is ill of digestion.
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!
We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
Look at a gown of gold, and you will at least get a sleeve of it.
Sordid selfishness doth contract and narrow our benevolence, and cause us, like serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our stings to the entire world besides.