O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
A little scorn is alluring.
It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.
There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.
Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.
Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.