Revenge, The Sweetest Morsel To The Mouth

If A Farmer Fills His Barn With Grain, He Gets Mice. If He Leaves It Empty, He Gets Actors.

Come He Slow Or Come He Fast It Is But Death That Comes At Last

Woe To The Youth Whom Fancy Gains, Winning From Reason's Hand The Reins, Pity And Woe! For Such A Mind Is Soft Contemplative, And Kind.

Love Will Subsist On Wonderfully Little Hope But Not Altogether Without It.

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.