What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.

I was not born for courts and great affairs, but I pay my debts, believe and say my prayers.

Our judgments, like our watches, none go just alike, yet each believes his own

Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

Wit in conversation is only a readiness of thought and a facility of expression, or a quick conception and an easy delivery.