Beware the fury of a patient man.
Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.
But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.
But love's a malady without a cure.
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.
Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
And plenty makes us poor.
Love is not in our choice but in our fate.
Genius must be born, and never can be taught.
Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.
God never made His work for man to mend.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.