A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
Grief is itself a medicine.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
As if the world and they were hand and glove.