Oliver Goldsmith

Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.

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

A book may be very amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very dull without a single absurdity.

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,—
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

For he who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is in battle slain
Can never rise and fight again.