Self praise is no praise at all.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.

Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull

Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!