We are so fond on one another because our ailments are the same.

Big-endians and small-endians.

Punning is an art of harmonious jingling upon words, which, passing in at the ears, excites a titillary motion in those parts; and this, being conveyed by the animal spirits into the muscles of the face, raises the cockles of the heart.

This single Stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected Corner, I once knew in a flourishing State in a Forest: It was full of Sap, full of Leaves, and full of Boughs: But now, in vain does the busy Art of Man pretend to vie with Nature, by tying that withered Bundle of Twigs to its sapless Trunk: It is at best but the Reverse of what it was; a Tree turned upside down, the Branches on the Earth, and the Root in the Air.

And surely one of the best rules in conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can reasonably wish had been left unsaid.

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

He was a fiddler, and consequently a rogue.