Coffee makes us severe, and grave and philosophical.

Every age might perhaps produce one or two geniuses, if they were not sunk under the censure and obloquy of plodding, servile, imitating pedants.

He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put into vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw, inclement summers.

If the men of wit and genius would resolve never to complain in their works of critics and detractors, the next age would not know that they ever had any.

Argument, as usually managed, is the worst sort of conversation, as it is generally in books the worst sort of reading.

Many a truth is told in jest.

We have an intuitive sense of our duty.