No one is content with his own lot.
The jackdaw, stript of her stolen colours, provokes our laughter.
Where there are many beauties in a poem I shall not cavil at a few faults proceeding either from negligence or from the imperfection of our nature.
Patience lightens the burthen we cannot avert.
The musician who always plays on the same string is laughed at.
Poets wish to profit or to please.