Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light; but lucky men are favorites of heaven; all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store
Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.