The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.

Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

There is no study that is not capable of delighting us after a little application to it.

Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue

Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, Whom age, and long experience render wise.