Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure; Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.

One minute gives invention to destroy; What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.

Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires; And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.

O, she is the antidote to desire.

Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.

Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.