No Profit Grows Where No Pleasure Is

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

All Furnished, All In Arms; All Plum'd Like Estridges That With The Wind Bated Like Eagles Having Lately Bathed; Glittering In Golden Coats Like Images; As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May And Gorgeous As The Sun At Midsummer; Wanton As Youthful Goats, Wild As Young Bulls.

Women Are Not In Their Best Fortunes Strong, But Want Will Perjure The Ne'er-touched Vestal.

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?

Thy Friendship Makes Us Fresh.