Grasshopper to grasshopper, ant to ant is dear, hawks love hawks, but I the muse and song.

Surely great loving-kindness yet may go With a little gift: all's dear that comes from friends.

Now begins a torrent of words and a trickling of sense.

They must try who would succeed.

Age overtakes us all; Our temples first; then on o'er cheek and chin, Slowly and surely, creep the frosts of Time. Up and do somewhat, ere thy limbs are sere.

Verily, great grace may go with a little gift; and precious are all things that come from a friend.

Cicala to cicala is dear, and ant to ant, and hawks to hawks, but to me the muse and song.

Faults are beauties in a lover's eye.

Beautiful is the bloom of youth, but it lasts only for a short time.

Beauty is a delightful prejudice.

Ne'er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades.

Sleeping we imagine what awake we wish; D ogs dream of bones, and fishermen of fish.