Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies!

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come; Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

Never find fault with the absent.

Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius; without taste, genius is only sublime folly.