Our Garrick 's a salad; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree!

Novels teach the youthful mind to sigh after happiness that never existed.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad When he put on his clothes.

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.

There are some faults so nearly allied to excellence that we can scarce weed out the vice without eradicating the virtue.

Both wit and understanding are trifles without integrity; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without a heart?

What cities, as great as this, have... promised themselves immortality! Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some. The sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others... Here stood their citadel, but now grown over with weeds; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruins.