And, after all, what is a lie? ‘Tis but the truth in a masquerade.
Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature’s God.
Honor and shame from no condition rise. Act well your part: there all the honor lies.
A cherub’s face, a reptile all the rest.
An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie; for an excuse is a lie guarded.
What some call health, if purchased by perpetual anxiety about diet, isn’t much better than tedious disease.
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic, if too new, or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
Those move easiest who have learn’d to dance.
I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
An honest man’s the noblest work of God.
The learned is happy, nature to explore; The fool is happy, that he knows no more.
Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
