“Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.”

Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.

While I am compassed round With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, Whence, like the bird of night, with half-shut eyes, She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day.

Virtue is her own reward.

Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.

Hushed as midnight silence.

They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.

For those whom God to ruin has design’d, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.

Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.

Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.

If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

Order is the greatest grace.

An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.

Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.

Pride – Lord of human kind.