Our [British] summers are often, though beautiful for verdure, so cold, that they are rather cold winters.

A poet who makes use of a worse word instead of a better, because the former fits the rhyme or the measure, though it weakens the sense, is like a jeweller, who cuts a diamond into a brilliant, and diminishes the weight to make it shine more.

Letters to absence can a voice impart, And lend a tongue when distance gags the heart.

Oh that I were seated as high as my ambition, I'd place my naked foot on the necks of monarchs.

Our [British] summers are often, though beautiful for verdure, so cold, that they are rather cold winters.

I never found even in my juvenile hours that it was necessary to go a thousand miles in search of themes for moralizing.

A man of sense, though born without wit, often lives to have wit. His memory treasures up ideas and reflections; he compares themwith new occurrences, and strikes out new lights from the collision. The consequence is sometimes bons mots, and sometimes apothegms.