Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

There is no study that is not capable of delighting us after a little application to it.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.

True disputants are like true sportsmen: their whole delight is in the pursuit.

Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.

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