The Folly Of Others Is Ever Most

Our Garrick 's A Salad; For In Him We See Oil, Vinegar, Sugar, And Saltness Agree!

The Dog, To Gain Some Private Ends, Went Mad, And Bit The Man.

[t]here Are Depths Of Thousands Of Miles Which Are Hidden From Our Inquiry. The Only Tidings We Have From Those Unfathomable Regions Are By Means Of Volcanoes, Those Burning Mountains That Seem To Discharge Their Materials From The Lowest Abysses Of The Earth.

The Volumes Of Antiquity, Like Medals, May Very Well Serve To Amuse The Curious, But The Works Of The Moderns, Like The Current Coin Of A Kingdom, Are Much Better For Immediate Use.

And What Is Friendship But A Name, A Charm That Lulls To Sleep, A Shade That Follows Wealth Or Fame, And Leaves The Wretch To Weep?