Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.
Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth. While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.
Absence of occupation is not rest.
But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Grief is itself a medicine.
There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.