It is a madness to make fortune the mistress of events because in herself she is nothing but is ruled by prudence.
Every inch that is not fool is rogue.
Chaucer I confess is a rough diamond and must be polished e'er he shines.
I'll habits gather by unseen degrees As brooks make rivers rivers run to seas.
None but the brave deserves the fair.
Successful crimes alone are justified.
Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
They conquer who believe they can.
There is a pleasure sure In being mad which none but madmen know!
Those who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.
Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.
When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind. Anger will disappear just as soon as thoughts of resentment are forgotten.
Repentance is but want of power to sin.
For Art may err but Nature cannot miss.
Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more; Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate's: Souls know no conquerors.
None but the brave deserve the fair.
He has not learned the first lesson of life who does not every day surmount a fear.