There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

The proud are ever most provoked by pride.

If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.

All truth is precious, if not all divine; and what dilates the powers must needs refine.

Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.

Folly ends where genuine hope begins.

Unmissed but by his dogs and by his groom.