There Is No Talent So Pernicious As

It Is Always To Be Understood That A Lady Takes All You Detract From The Rest Of Her Sex To Be A Gift To Her.

Should A Writer Single Out And Point His Raillery At Particular Persons, Or Satirize The Miserable, He Might Be Sure Of Pleasing A Great Part Of His Readers, But Must Be A Very Ill Man If He Could Please Himself.

That Courage Which Arises From The Sense Of Our Duty, And From The Fear Of Offending Him That Made Us, Acts Always In A Uniform Manner, And According To The Dictates Of Right Reason.

I Am Wonderfully Pleased When I Meet With Any Passage In An Old Greek Or Latin Author, That Is Not Blown Upon, And Which I Have Never Met With In Any Quotation.

When I Read The Epitaphs Of The Beautiful, Every Inordinate Desire Goes Out; When I Meet With The Grief Of Parents Upon A Tombstone, My Heart Melts With Compassion; When I See The Tomb Of The Parents Themselves, I Consider The Vanity Of Grieving For Those Whom We Must Quickly Follow: When I See Kings Lying By Those Who Deposed Them, When I Consider Rival Wits Placed Side By Side, Or The Holy Men That Divided The World With Their Contests And Disputes, I Reflect With Sorrow And Astonishment On The Little Competitions, Factions, And Debates Of Mankind.