Authors have established it as a kind of rule, that a man ought to be dull sometimes; as the most severe reader makes allowances for many rests and nodding-places in a voluminous writer.

The lives of great men cannot be writ with any tolerable degree of elegance or exactness within a short time after their decease.

For ever singing as they shine, The hand that made us is divine.

A fine coat is but a livery when the person who wears it discovers no higher sense than that of a footman.

Exercise ferments the humors, casts them into their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheerfulness.

Our Grub-street biographers watch for the death of a great man like so many undertakers on purpose to make a penny of him.

Men may change their climate, but they cannot change their nature. A man that goes out a fool cannot ride or sail himself into common sense.