Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Statesman all over, in plots famous grown,/ He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.
Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves.
So loud each tongue, so empty was each head, / So much they talked, so very little said.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
Genius is of no country.
To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense.
Genius is independent of situation.
Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect; so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
The best things carried to excess are wrong.
A joke's a very serious thing.
Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
Copyright © 2024 Electric Goat Media. All Rights Reserved.