A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please, With too much spirit to be e'er at ease, With too much quickness ever to be taught, With too much thinking to have common thought: You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.

As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.

A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.

The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.