Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun. – John Dryden
Since every man who lives is born to die, and none can boast sincere felicity, with equal mind, what happens, let us bear, nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. – John Dryden
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