So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.

So perish all who do the like again.

Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment, too?

True self-love and social are the same.

Be silent always when you doubt your sense.

Conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty; it is not only needless, but it impairs what it would improve.