TOBIAS SMOLLETT

Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall.

Some folks are wise and some are otherwise.

The capital is become an overgrown monster; which, like a dropsical head, will in time leave the body and extremities without nourishment and support.

I think for my part one half of the nation is mad - and the other not very sound.

There is not room to swing a cat.

One wit, like a knuckle of ham in soup, gives a zest and flavour to the dish, but more than one serves only to spoil the pottage.

Ridiculous modes, invented by ignorance, and adopted by folly.

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share! Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.

And hearts resolved and hands prepared The blessings they enjoy to guard.

Number three is always fortunate.

The Highlanders regale themselves with whisky. They find it an excellent preservation against the winter cold. It is given with great success to the infants in the confluent smallpox.

A mere index hunter, who held the eel of science by the tail.

The great Cham of literature. (Samuel Johnson)

A man's opinion of danger varies at different times, in consequence of an irregular tide of animal spirits; and he is actuated by considerations which he dares not avow.

Of this diversion the Scots are so fond, that, when the weather will permit, you may see a multitude of all ranks, from the senator of justice to the lowest tradesman, mingled together, in their shirts, and following the balls with utmost eagerness.

Writing is all a lottery -- I have been a loser by the works of the greatest men of the age.

To the valiant actions speak alone.

The bread I eat in London, is a deleterious paste, mixed up with chalk, alum, and bone ashes: insipid to the taste, and destructive to the constitution.

True courage scorns to vent her prowess in a storm of words; and to the valiant action speaks alone.

Opposition is the very spur of love.

On Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envied not the happiest swain That ever trod the Arcadian plain. Pure stream! in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread.

Every shot has its commission, d'ye see? We must all die at one time, as the saying is.

False as the fowler's artful snare.