Look What A Little Vain Dust We

In All Thy Humours, Whether Grave Or Mellow, Thou'rt Such A Touchy, Testy, Pleasant Fellow, Hast So Much Wit And Mirth And Spleen About Thee, There Is No Living With Thee, Nor Without Thee.

I Never Knew A Critic Who Made It His Business To Lash The Faults Of Other Writers That Was Not Guilty Of Greater Himself--as The Hangman Is Generally A Worse Malefactor Than The Criminal That Suffers By His Hand.

Among The English Authors, Shakespeare Has Incomparably Excelled All Others. That Noble Extravagance Of Fancy, Which He Had In So Great Perfection, Thoroughly Qualified Him To Touch The Weak, Superstitious Part Of His Readers' Imagination, And Made Him Capable Of Succeeding Where He Had Nothing To Support Him Besides The Strength Of His Own Genius.

Our Admiration Of A Famous Man Lessens Upon Our Nearer Acquaintance With Him; And We Seldom Hear Of A Celebrated Person Without A Catalogue Of Some Notorious Weaknesses And Infirmities.

An Honest Man, That Is Not Quite Sober, Has Nothing To Fear.