Fame, like the river, is narrowest where it is bred, and broadest afar off.
The assembled souls of all that men held wise.
Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.
How much pleasure they lose (and even the pleasures of heroic poesy are not unprofitable) who take away the liberty of a poet, and fetter his feet in the shackles of a historian.
Faith lights us through the dark to Deity.
Calamity is the perfect glass wherein we truly see and know ourselves.