To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.

Atheists put on false courage and alacrity in the midst of their darkness and apprehensions, like children who, when they fear to go in the dark, will sing for fear.

So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

In this commonplace world every one is said to be romantic who either admires a fine thing or does one.

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels. In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'T is but to know how little can be known; To see all others' faults, and feel our own.