Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.
Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
Why did I write? What sin to me unknown dipped me in ink, my parents , or my own?
If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.