Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.

There is no arguing with Johnson: for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

A nightcap decked his brows instead of bay, A cap by night — a stocking all the day!

Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt; It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.

[To Mr. Johnson] If you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales.