Sound judgment is the ground of writing well.

Our heroes of the former days deserved and gained their never-fading bays.

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

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

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

Words are like leaves; some wither every year, and every year a younger race succeed.

The men, who labour and digest things most, Will be much apter to despond than boast; For if your author be profoundly good, 'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.