I do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.

The soul may be compared to a field of battle, where the armies are ready every moment to encounter. Not a single vice but has a more powerful opponent, and not one virtue but may be overborne by a combination of vices.

Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word From those who spoke her praise.

A book may be very amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity.

Surely the best way to meet the enemy is head on in the field and not wait till they plunder our very homes.

The fortunate circumstances of our lives are generally found, at last, to be of our own producing.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, And the puff a dunce, he mistook it for fame; Till his relish grown callous, almost to displease, Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.