Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
From Alexander Pope
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head.
Wit is the lowest form of humor.
Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.
Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
Party-spirit at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.
Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
'Tis education forms the common mind; just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man.
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