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.

No tribute is laid on castles in the air.

Genius is of no country; her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.

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.

Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.

If you mean to profit, learn to praise.