A Weed Is A Plant Whose Virtue

When The Eyes Say One Thing, And The Tongue Another, A Practiced Man Relies On The Language Of The First.

A Garden Is Like Those Pernicious Machineries Which Catch A Man's Coat-skirt Or His Hand, And Draw In His Arm, His Leg , And His Whole Body To Irresistible Destruction.

We Are Like Travellers Using The Cinders Of A Volcano To Roast Their Eggs. Whilst We See That It Always Stands Ready To Clothe What We Would Say, We Cannot Avoid The Question Whether The Characters Are Not Significant Of Themselves.

The Clergyman Who Lives In The City May Have Piety, But He Must Have Taste.

We Do What We Must, And Call It By The Best Names.