No-one is exempt from speaking nonsense – the only misfortune is to do it solemnly.

I am one of those who hold that poetry is never so blithe as in a wanton and irregular subject.

Amongst so many borrowed things, am glad if I can steal one, disguising and altering it for some new service.

Some men seem remarkable to the world in whom neither their wives nor their valets saw anything extraordinary. Few men have been admired by their servants.

I would have every man write what he knows and no more.

Whom conscience, ne'er asleep, Wounds with incessant strokes, not loud, but deep.

When all is summed up, a man never speaks of himself without loss; his accusations of himself are always believed; his praises never.