Each famous author of antiquity whom I recover places a new offence and another cause of dishonor to the charge of earlier generations, who, not satisfied with their own disgraceful barrenness, permitted the fruit of other minds, and the writings that their ancestors had produced by toil and application, to perish through insufferable neglect. Although they had nothing of their own to hand down to those who were to come after, they robbed posterity of its ancestral heritage.

How quick the old woe follows a little bliss!

Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief

How difficult it is to save the bark of reputation from the rocks of ignorance.

Events appear sad, pleasant, or painful, not because they are so in reality, but because we believe them to be so and the light in which we look at them depends upon our own judgment.

For style beyond the genius never dares.

And tears are heard within the harp I touch.