Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!

Nature and nature's laws lay hid in the night. God said, Let Newton be! and all was light!

The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

Placed on this isthmus of a middle state.

Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.

I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?