Mere poets are sottish as mere drunkards are, who live in a continual mist, without seeing or judging anything clearly. A man should be learned in several sciences, and should have a reasonable, philosophical and in some measure a mathematical head, to be a complete and excellent poet.

He look'd in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.

All objects lose by too familiar a view.

If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

As poetry is the harmony of words, so music is that of notes.

The winds are out of breath.