For those whom God to ruin has design'd, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.

Politicians neither love nor hate.

An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.

Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.

Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.

Griefs assured are felt before they come.

Mighty things from small beginnings grow.