Poetry is the honey of all flowers, the quintessence of all sciences, the marrow of wit, and the very phrase of angels.

From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, deliver us!

Shape your coat according to your cloth.

Poetry is the honey of all flowers, the quintessence of all sciences, the marrow of wit, and the very phrase of angels.

Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship!

New herrings, new!' we must cry, every time we make ourselves public, or else we shall be christened with a hundred new titles of idiotism.

A traveller must have the back of an ass to bear all, a tongue like the tail of a dog to flatter all, the mouth of a hog to eat what is set before him, the ear of a merchant to hear all and say nothing.