Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.

War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.

Folly ends where genuine hope begins.

Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; he does not feel for man.