Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense.

Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.

A family is but too often a commonwealth of malignants.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate.

In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fix'd: 't is fix'd as in a frost; contracted all, retiring to the breast; but strength of mind is exercise, not rest.

At ev'ry word a reputation dies.

Dogs, ye have had your day!