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

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.

Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt; It 's like sending them ruffles when wanting a shirt.

Could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet.

Friendship is made up of esteem and pleasure; pity is composed of sorrow and contempt: the mind may for some time fluctuate between them, but it can never entertain both at once.

Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning, Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genius a better discerning.

A man's own heart must ever be given to gain that of another.