To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense
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Why should we fear; and what? The laws? They all are armed in virtue's cause; And aiming at the self-same end, Satire is always virtue's friend.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect; so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
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The surest road to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill - Most of those evils we poor mortals know, From doctors and imagination flow.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
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The best things carried to excess are wrong.
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Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.
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Genius is of no country.
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
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Genius is independent of situation.
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