Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
— John Dryden
The intoxication of anger, like that of the grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves.
What passions cannot music raise or quell?
Beware the fury of a patient man.
Honor is but an empty bubble.
A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.
Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.
We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.
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.
Love is love's reward.
God never made His work for man to mend.
Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.
