Her great merit is finding out mine - there is nothing so amiable as discernment.

Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns.

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I'll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way; / all this comes of Authorship.

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son!/ All that we know is, nothing can be known.