Such Dainties To Them, Their Health It

The Wretch Condemn'd With Life To Part, Still, Still On Hope Relies; And Every Pang That Rends The Heart Bids Expectation Rise.

The Soul May Be Compared To A Field Of Battle, Where The Armies Are Ready Every Moment To Encounter. Not A Single Vice But Has A More Powerful Opponent, And Not One Virtue But May Be Overborne By A Combination Of Vices.

I Find You Want Me To Furnish You With Argument And Intellects Too. No, Sir, These, I Protest You, Are Too Hard For Me.

The Jests Of The Rich Are Ever Successful.

Nothing Is So Contemptible As That Affectation Of Wisdom, Which Some Display, By Universal Incredulity.