A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.

But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

Not always actions show the man; we find who does a kindness is not therefore kind.

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.

The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.

Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.

In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.