“Then most our trouble still when most admired,And still the more we give, the more required;Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,Sure some to vex, but never all to please.”

“Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please,With too much spirit to be e'er at ease,With too much quickness ever to be taught,With too much thinking to have common thought:You purchase pain with all that joy can give,And die of nothing but a rage to live.”

“True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'dWhat oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,That gives us back the image of our mind.As shades more sweetly recommend the light,So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.”

“How vain are all these Glories, all our Pains,Unless good Sense preserve what Beauty gains:That Men may say, when we the Front-box grace,Behold the first in Virtue, as in Face!”

“An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie;for an excuse is a lie guarded”

“You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.”

“Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide:If to her share some female errors fall,Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.”