It is true there is nothing displays a genius, I mean a quickness of genius, more than a dispute; as two diamonds, encountering, contribute to each other's luster. But perhaps the odds is much against the man of taste in this particular.

The works of a person that begin immediately to decay, while those of him who plants begin directly to improve. In this, planting promises a more lasting pleasure than building; which, were it to remain in equal perfection, would at best begin to moulder and want repairs in imagination. Now trees have a circumstance that suits our taste, and that is annual variety.

Theirs is the present who can praise the past.

Amid the most mercenary ages it is but a secondary sort of admiration that is bestowed upon magnificence.

It should seem that indolence itself would incline a person to be honest, as it requires infinitely greater pains and contrivance to be a knave.

Patience is the panacea; but where does it grow, or who can swallow it?

Jealousy is the fear or apprehension of superiority: envy our uneasiness under it.