I cannot imagine why we should be at the expense to furnish wit for succeeding ages, when the former have made no sort of provision for ours.

All human race would be wits. And millions miss, for one that hits.

There is nothing in this world constant, but inconstancy.

Ever eating, never cloying, All-devouring, all-destroying Never finding full repast, Till I eat the world at last.

It is very unfair in any writer to employ ignorance and malice together, because it gives his answerer double work.

Praise is the daughter of present power.

Nothing more unqualified the man to act with prudence than a misfortune that is attended with shame and guilt.