“Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.”

Love is love’s reward.

Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.

There is a proud modesty in merit.

All empire is no more than power in trust.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.

Faith is to believe what you do not yet see: the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.

He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.

All objects lose by too familiar a view.

Old age creeps on us where we think it night.

Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.

Since a true knowledge of nature gives us pleasure, a lively imitation of it, either in poetry or painting, must produce a much greater; for both these arts are not only true imitations of nature, but of the best nature.

Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.

Keen appetite And quick digestion wait on you and yours.

Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.