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| I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff-box from an emperor. | | Uncategorized | |
| I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. | | Uncategorized | |
| I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted: time will doubt of Rome | | Uncategorized | |
| If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. | | Uncategorized | |
| If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company. | | Uncategorized | |
| If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. | | Writing | |
| If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain. | | Uncategorized | |
| If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears | | Uncategorized | |
| If this be true, indeed, / Some Christians have a comfortable creed. | | Uncategorized | |
| If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver. | | Uncategorized | |
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| In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy. | | Uncategorized | |
| In general I do not draw well with literary men / not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. | | Uncategorized | |
| In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love | | Love; Passion | |
| In short, he was a perfect cavalier, / And to his very valet seemed a hero. | | Uncategorized | |
| In solitude, where we are least alone. | | Solitude | |
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| Indigestion is - that inward fate which makes all Styx through one small liver flow | | Body | |
| It is a hard although a common case To find our children running restive- they In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Our little selves reform'd in finer clay, Just as old age is creeping on apace, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, Th | | Uncategorized | |
| It is by far the most elegant worship, hardly excepting the Greek mythology. What with incense, pictures, statues, altars, shrines, relics, and the real presence, confession, absolution, -- there is something sensible to grasp at. Besides, it leaves no possibility of doubt; for those who swallow their Deity, really and truly, in transubstantiation, can hardly find any thing else otherwise than easy of digestion. | | Uncategorized | |
