“None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey’d to see Another’s faults, and his deformity.”

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

Silence in times of suffering is the best.

Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind. Anger will disappear just as soon as thoughts of resentment are forgotten.

War is the trade of kings.

Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.

Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.

Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.

Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.

Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.

A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

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.

When I consider life, ’tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay. Tomorrow’s falser than the former day.

Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.

What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o’er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?