“Honor is but an empty bubble.”

The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.

Trust on and think To-morrow will repay; To-morrow’s falser than the former day; Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blest With some new Joys, cuts off what we possest.

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of fate are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.

By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.

If all the world be worth thy winning. / Think, oh think it worth enjoying: / Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee, / Take the good the gods provide thee.

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.

I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.

Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will overtake the crime.

Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.

Virgil and Horace were the severest writers of the severest age.

They live too long who happiness outlive.

He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.

Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.

Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance.