What shall we call this undetermin'd state,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless oceans,
That whence we came, and that to which we tend?
Truth is truth, though from an enemy, and spoken in malice.
There's sure no passion in the human soul, But finds its food in music.
When gratitude o'erflows the swelling heart, and breathes in free and uncorrupted praise for benefits received, propitious heaven takes such acknowledgment as fragrant incense, and doubles all its blessings.
A noble birth and fortune, though they make not a bad man good, yet they are a real advantage to a worthy one and place his virtues in a fairer light.
The firmest purpose of a woman's heart to well-timed, artful flattery may yield.
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