Life is an incurable disease.

The present is an eternal now.

The world's a scene of changes.

The monster London laugh at me.

Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.

His time's forever, everywhere his place.

Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.

Plenty, as well as Want, can separate friends.

Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.

The present is all the ready money Fate can give.

There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.

Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.

Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.

But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.

The getting out of doors is the greatest part of the journey.

Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.

All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!

Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.

s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.

Hope! of all ills that men endure, the only cheap and universal cure.

What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?

Nothing is to come, and nothing past: But an eternal now, does always last.

Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?

All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.

Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!

The world's a scene of changes, and to be constant, in nature were inconstancy.

Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.

Hope! fortune's cheating lottery; when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!

Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.

This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.

This only grant me, that my means may lie too low for envy, for contempt too high.

Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.

For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.

Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.

Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.

May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.

Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?

Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.

Thus would I double my life's fading space;For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.

Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.

Books should, not Business, entertain the Light; And Sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.

Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th' approaches of the last.

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