Don't call the world dirty because you forgot to clean your glasses.
Deceit is the false road to happiness; and all the joys we travel through to vice, like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them.
Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
Let never man be bold enough to say,
Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray:
The first crime, past, compels us into more,
And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before.
Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.
There is no merit where there is no trial; and till experience stamps the mark of strength, cowards may pass for heroes, and faith for falsehood.
Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
The man who pauses on the paths of treason, Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.
Shun fear, it is the ague of the soul! a passion man created for himself--for sure that cramp of nature could not dwell in the warm realms of glory.
Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.
She who means no mischief does it all.
The man with but one idea in his head is sure to exaggerate that to top-heaviness, and thus he loses his equilibrium.
Order, thou eye of action.
Let shining Charity adorn your zeal,
The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
Law that shocks equity is reason's murderer.
Hide not thy tears; weep boldly, and be proud to give the flowing virtue manly way; it is nature's mark to know an honest heart by.
Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another's sorrow.
First, then, a woman will, or won't, - depend on't; If she will do't, she will; and there's an end on't. But, if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.
Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.
Man is the circled oak; woman the ivy.
Reason gains all people by compelling none.
Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains. 'Tis the same with common natures:
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.
Oh, treacherous night thou lendest thy ready veil to every treason, and teeming mischief's beneath thy shade.
Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, and lose the medium in the wild extreme.
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