Feed the musician, and he's out of tune.

Deceivers are the most dangerous members of society. They trifle with the best affections of our nature, and violate the most sacred obligations.

Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain; Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.

Dreams are like portraits; and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.

Fears of sinning let in thoughts of sin.

Feed the musician, and he's out of tune.

Good is done by degrees.