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

Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.

Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss.

Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.