Genius is nothing more than inflamed enthusiasm.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends; He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill; Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.
Genius is of no country.
When fiction rises pleasing to the eye, men will believe, because they love the lie; but truth herself, if clouded with a frown, must have some solemn proof to pass her down.