Of all the creatures that creep, swim, or fly, Peopling the earth, the waters, and the sky, From Rome to Iceland, Paris to Japan, I really think the greatest fool is man.

Nothing but truth is lovely, nothing fair.

Whatever we well understand we express clearly, and words flow with ease.

Honor is like an island, rugged and without a beach; once we have left it, we can never return.

He [Moliere] pleases all the world, but cannot please himself.

Happy who in his verse can gently steer, From grave to light, from pleasant to severe.

But satire, ever moral, ever new, Delights the reader and instructs him, too. She, if good sense refine her sterling page, Oft shakes some rooted folly of the age.