There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.

The greatest magnifying glasses in the world are a man's own eyes when they look upon his own person.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

In faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity.

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.

The best way to prove the clearness of our mind, is by showing its faults; as when a stream discovers the dirt at the bottom, it convinces us of the transparency and purity of the water.

Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice - A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings; Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.

There was something wild about her, as if she was connected to this place but not the people.

For all I see, humanity is lost. It's devastatingly sad.

You see, when you're excited, your body has trouble telling the difference between pain and pleasure.

Sure I played, did you think I was born at the age of 70 sitting in a dugout trying to manage guys like you?

Sometimes in life, we need a few bad days in order to keep the good ones in perspective.

The line is a whole, an identity, for a particular place and time.

Love is rarely flawless,” Carter pointed out. “Humans delude themselves by thinking it has to be. It is the imperfection that makes love perfect.

When a man becomes old, his greed becomes young: sleep grows heavy at the time of morning.

I'm spoiled in the sense that now I get what I want but it's because I work for it.

Love is enough: though the world be a-waning, And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining.