Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

An Atheist Is But A Mad, Ridiculous Derider Of Piety, But A Hypocrite Makes A Sober Jest Of God And Religion; He Finds It Easier To Be Upon His Knees Than To Rise To A Good Action.