Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.

Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid

Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . Sabbathless Satan!

In every thing that relates to science, I am a whole Encyclopaedia behind the rest of the world.

I mean your borrowers of books - those mutilators of collections, spoilers of the symmetry of shelves, and creators of odd volumes.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!

Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.