To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.

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.

Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.

Wit in conversation is only a readiness of thought and a facility of expression, or a quick conception and an easy delivery.

A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell! Thy fools no more I'll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!