An accomplished man to his fingertips.

The snow has at last melted, the fields regain their herbage, and the trees their leaves.

Poetry is like painting: one piece takes your fancy if you stand close to it, another if you keep at some distance.

A corrupt judge does not carefully search for the truth.

There is a mean in all things; even virtue itself has stated limits; which not being strictly observed, it ceases to be virtue.

And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low mimic follies of a farce, As a grave matron would to dance with girls.

Does he council you better who bids you, Money, by right means, if you can: but by any means, make money ?