A fool always finds a greater fool to admire him.

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

Now two punctilious envoys, Thine and Mine, Embroil the earth about a fancied line; And, dwelling much on right and much on wrong, Prove how the right is chiefly with the strong.

Nothing but truth is lovely, nothing fair.

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

It is in vain a daring author thinks of attaining to the heights of Parnassus if he does not feel the secret influence of heaven and if his natal star has not formed him to be a poet.

Who is content with nothing possesses all things.