Matthew Prior

Hopes are but the dreams of those that wake.

It takes two to quarrel, but only one to end it.

Be to their virtue very kind; be to their faults a little blind.

I never strove to rule the roast, She ne'er refus'd to pledge my toast.

Cured yesterday of my disease, I died last night of my physician.

For, when with beauty we can virtue join, We paint the semblance of a form divine.

Hope is but the dream of those who wake.

And 'tis remarkable that they talk most who have the least to say.

They never taste who always drink: They always talk, who never think.

The ends must justify the means.

Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke, how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway, and those are punished most, who most obey.

They talk most who have the least to say.

For hope is but a dream for those that wake.

Who walks the fastest, but walks astray, is only furthest from his way.

His noble negligences teach, what others' toils despair to reach.