Here lies a Proof that Wit can never be
Defence enough against Mortality

Faith, sir, we are here today, and gone tomorrow.

Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret.

He that knew all that learning ever writ, Knew only this - that he knew nothing yet.

That perfect tranquillity of life, which is nowhere to be found but in retreat, a faithful friend and a good library.

One hour of right-down love is worth an age of dully living on.