Painting gives the object itself; poetry what it implies. Painting embodies what a thing contains in itself; poetry suggests what exists out of it, in any manner connected with it.

The confession of our failings is a thankless office. It savors less of sincerity or modesty than of ostentation. It seems as if we thought our weaknesses as good as other people's virtues.

Charity, like nature, abhors a vacuum. Next to putting it in a bank, men like to squander their superfluous wealth on those to whom it is sure to be doing the least possible good.

Every man, in his own opinion, forms an exception to the ordinary rules of morality.

Religion either makes men wise and virtuous, or it makes them set up false pretenses to both.

A lively blockhead in company is a public benefit. Silence or dulness by the side of folly looks like wisdom.

Though familiarity may not breed contempt, it takes off the edge of admiration.