Every age has its pleasures, its style of wit, and its own ways.
Nicolas Boileau-Despreaux (1636 - 1711)
Source: The Art of Poetry, 1674
Contributed by: Zaady
But satire, ever moral, ever new, Delights the reader and instructs him, too. She, if good sense refine her sterling page, Oft shakes some rooted folly of the age.
Honor is like an island, rugged and without shores; once we have left it, we can never return.
Now two punctilious envoys, Thine and Mine Embroil the earth about a fancied line; And, dwelling much on right and much on wrong, Prove how the right is chiefly with the strong.
The wisest man is he who does not fancy that he is so at all.
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