At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme,
Nor take her tea without a strategem.

Reason is progressive; instinct is complete; swift instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.

He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.