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.

To copy faults is want of sense.

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.

Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.

Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse, Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse; Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known, Defacing first, then claiming for his own.

The danger chiefly lies in acting well; no crime's so great as daring to excel.

The laws I love; the lawyers I suspect.