Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, and black despair succeeds brown study.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life.
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
Music has charms to soothe the savage beast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
I know that's a secret, for it's whispered everywhere.
A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant; one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.