What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone.

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.

Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.

Get your enemy to read your works in order to mend them, for your friend is so much your second self that he will judge too like you.

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

You eat, in dreams, the custard of the day.

Genius creates, and taste preserves.