An atheist is but a mad, ridiculous derider of piety, but a hypocrite makes a sober jest of God and religion; he finds it easier to be upon his knees than to rise to a good action.

When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough to build me a monument if there were a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive and seeing another enjoy it.

Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?

Fondly we think we honor merit then, when we but praise ourselves in other men.

Health consists with temperance alone.

What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!

Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?