Some, either from being glued to vice by a natural attachment, or from long habit, no longer recognize its ugliness.
It is easier to write an indifferent poem than to understand a good one.
Tis the taste of effeminacy that disrelishes ordinary and accustomed things.
[Marriage] happens as with cages: the birds without despair to get in, and those within despair of getting out.
There is perhaps no more obvious vanity than to write of it so vainly.
How often, being moved under a false cause, if the person offending makes a good defense and presents us with a just excuse, are we angry against truth and innocence itself?