It is not so much the being exempt from faults, as having overcome them, that is an advantage to us.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.

The zeal of fools offends at any time.

All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good.

Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.

Age and want sit smiling at the gate.

The sound must seem an echo to the sense.