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.
Patience is sorrow's salve.
Those who would make us feel must feel themselves.
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
With various readings stored his empty skull, Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull.
Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford; and reputation bleeds in every word.