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.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.