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

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.

The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.

Whatever the skill of any country may be in the sciences, it is from its excellence in polite learning alone that it must expect a character from posterity.

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?

The first time I read an excellent book, it is to me just as if I had gained a new friend. When I read a book over I have perused before, it resembles the meeting with an old one.