To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense
Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.
Genius is nothing more than inflamed enthusiasm.
With various readings stored his empty skull, Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull.
No tribute is laid on castles in the air.
Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford; and reputation bleeds in every word.