The highest eulogy which can be pronounced on the Revolution of 1688 is this that this was our last Revolution.

Ambrose Phillips . . . who had the honor of bringing into fashion a species of composition which has been called, after his name, Namby Pamby.

The sweeter sound of woman's praise.

A man possessed of splendid talents, which he often abused, and of a sound judgment, the admonitions of which he often neglected; a man who succeeded only in an inferior department of his art, but who in that department succeeded pre-eminently.

We cannot absolutely prove that those are in error who tell us that society has reached a turning point, that we have seen our best days. But so said all before us, and with just as much apparent reason.

Language is the machine of the poet.

I don't mind your thinking slowly; I mind your publishing faster than you think.