Fame, the sovereign deity of proud ambition.

Tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers.

Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick! Fling "Peregrine Pickle" under the toilette -throw "Roderick Random" into the closet -put "The Innocent Adultery" into "The Whole Duty of Man"; thrust "Lord Aimworth" under the sofa! cram "Ovid" behind the bolster; there -put "The Man of Feeling" into your pocket. Now for them.

When of a gossiping circle it was asked, "What are they doing?" The answer was, "Swapping lies.

A practitioner in panegyric, or, to speak more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing.

If I reprehend anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs!

Humanity is composed but of two categories, the invalids and the nurses