I am a fool, I know it; and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.
Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
Who pleases one against his will.
She once used me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.