Blessings Ever Wait On Virtuous

Love's But The Frailty Of The Mind, When 'tis Not With Ambition Joined; A Sickly Flame, Which If Not Fed Expires; And Feeding, Wastes In Self-consuming Fires.

I Find We Are Growing Serious, And Then We Are In Great Danger Of Being Dull.

I Came Up Stairs Into The World, For I Was Born In A Cellar.

Whoever Is King, Is Also The Father Of His Country.

But Say What You Will, 'tis Better To Be Left Than Never To Have Been Loved. To Pass Our Youth In Dull Indifference, To Refuse The Sweets Of Life Because They Once Must Leave Us, Is As Preposterous As To Wish To Have Been Born Old, Because We One Day Must Be Old.