Sometimes We Are Less Unhappy In Being

'tis Solitude Should Teach Us How To Die; It Hath No Flatterers; Vanity Can Give, No Hollow Aid; Alone - Man With God Must Strive.

O Gold! I Still Prefer Thee Unto Paper, Which Makes Bank Credit Like A Bark Of Vapour.

A Woman Being Never At A Loss... The Devil Always Sticks By Them.

Her Great Merit Is Finding Out Mine; There Is Nothing So Amiable As Discernment.

Still From The Fount Of Joy's Delicious Springs Some Bitter O'er The Flowers Its Bubbling Venom Flings.