Ah! why, ye Gods, should two and two make four?

Trust not yourself, but your defects to know, make use of every friend and every foe.

I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

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.

Genius involves both envy and calumny.