Curse On All Laws But Those Which

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

Some To Conceit Alone Their Taste Confine, And Glittering Thoughts Struck Out At Ev'ry Line; Pleas'd With A Work Where Nothing's Just Or Fit; One Glaring Chaos And Wild Heap Of Wit.

Whenever I Find A Great Deal Of Gratitude In A Poor Man, I Take It For Granted There Would Be As Much Generosity If He Were A Rich Man.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.