Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
The ruling passion, be it what it will. The ruling passion conquers reason still.
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.
Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense.
Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.