There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small; because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.

The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.

Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.

Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.