Tobias Smollett quotes:

A mere index hunter, who held the eel of science by the tail. Index-hunter is a term used mockingly, meaning one who acquires superficial knowledge merely by consulting indexes. The '[holding] the eel of science by the tail' allusion was used in 1728 by Alexander Pope (q.v.).

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.

The great Cham of literature. (Samuel Johnson)

Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall.

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.

Deep in the frozen regions of the north, A goddess violated brought thee forth, Immortal Liberty!

Glory is the child of peril.

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

Number three is always fortunate.

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.

Opposition is the very spur of love.

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

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.

Thy fatal shafts unerring move; I bow before thine altar, Love!

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.

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

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

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.

I find that the old Roman baths of this quarter, were found covered by an old burying ground, belonging to the Abbey; through which, in all probability, the water drains in its passage; so that as we drink the decoction of the living bodies at the Pump-room, we swallow the strainings of rotten bones and carcasses at the private bath - I vow to God, the very idea turns my stomach!

Nature and wisdom are not, but should be, companions.

Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts, By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell; Where the pois'd lark his evening ditty chants, And health, and peace, and contemplation dwell.

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.

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.

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.

There is not room to swing a cat.

To the valiant actions speak alone.

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

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