I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.

Beware what spirit rages in your breast; for one inspired, ten thousand are possessed.

Invention is not so much the result of labor as of judgment.

Words once spoken can never be recalled.

Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of decency is want of sense.

Sound judgment is the ground of writing well.

The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound, Shall thro' the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.