The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
Whenever I find a great deal of gratitude in a poor man, I take it for granted there would be as much generosity if he were a rich man.
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!