Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities.
Each age has deemed the new-born year the fittest time for festal cheer.
I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
The misery of keeping a dog is his dying so soon. But, to be sure, if he lived for fifty years and then died, what would become of me?