Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, and fills up all the mighty void of sense.

A little learning is a dangerous thing.

Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.

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

Not to go back is somewhat to advance, and men must walk, at least, before they dance.

The bookful blockhead ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails.

New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise: So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try.