A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.

You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed was the ninth beatitude.

A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.

Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.

Passions are the gales of life.