The great Cham of literature. (Samuel Johnson)
A mere index hunter, who held the eel of science by the tail.
Ridiculous modes, invented by ignorance, and adopted by folly.
Glory is the child of peril.
Some folks are wise and some are otherwise.
The bread I eat in London, is a deleterious paste, mixed up with chalk, alum, and bone ashes: insipid to the taste, and destructive to the constitution.