Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life.

Everyone calls himself a friend, but only a fool relies on it: nothing is commoner than the name, nothing rarer than the thing.

There's nothing sweeter than a real friend:
Not only is he prompt to lend — An angler delicate, he fishes
The very deepest of your wishes,
And spares your modesty the task
His friendly aid to ask.
A dream, a shadow, wakes his fear,
When pointing at the object dear.