Affability, mildness, tenderness, and a word which I would fain bring back to its original signification of virtue,--I mean good-nature,--are of daily use; they are the bread of mankind and staff of life.
They think too little who talk too much.
Time glides with undiscover'd haste; The future but a length behind the past.
Merit challenges envy.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
Truth is never to be expected from authors whose understanding is warped with enthusiasm.
None but the brave deserve the fair.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
What I have left is from my native spring; I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!
Time and death shall depart and say in flying Love has found out a way to live, by dying.
He look'd in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
Politicians neither love nor hate.
When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections.
Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
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.
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
For those whom God to ruin has design'd, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.
Ah, how sweet it is to love! Ah, how gay is young Desire! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach Love's fire!
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
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