They say fingers were made before forks, and hands before knives.
It is a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is the life of the spider.
Religion seems to have grown an infant with age, and requires miracles to nurse it, as it had in its infancy.
What we call the Irish Brogue is no sooner discovered, than it makes the deliverer, in the last degree, ridiculous and despised; and, from such a mouth, an Englishman expects nothing but bulls, blunders, and follies.
One enemy can do more hurt than ten friends can do good.
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.