Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

A God Without Dominion, Providence, And Final Causes, Is Nothing Else But Fate And Nature.

If, Presume Not To God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man. Plac'd On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise, And Rudely Great.

Where's The Man Who Counsel Can Bestow, Still Pleased To Teach, And Yet Not Proud To Know.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

See The Wild Waste Of All-devouring Years! How Rome Her Own Sad Sepulchre Appears, With Nodding Arches, Broken Temples Spread! The Very Tombs Now Vanish'd Like Their Dead!