To err is human; to forgive, divine.

All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.

Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.

Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels. In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'T is but to know how little can be known; To see all others' faults, and feel our own.

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd; but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.