Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.

Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find,Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind?First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less!Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are madeTaller or stronger than the weeds they shade?Or ask of yonder argent fields above,Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.

Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?

Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.

To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.

New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise: So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try.