Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.

Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.

I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.

They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.

Turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but a poet; for a poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning than any I have named.

I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.

Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure; Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.