Popular glory is a perfect coquette; her lovers must toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice, and perhaps at last be jilted into the bargain. True glory, on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense; her admirers must play no tricks. They feel no great anxiety, for they are sure in the end of being rewarded in proportion to their merit.
Oliver GoldsmithElegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
Oliver GoldsmithLogicians have but ill defined As rational the human mind; Reason, they say, belongs to man, But let them prove it if they can.
Oliver GoldsmithThe watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
Oliver Goldsmith