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• For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.
• Satire 's my weapon, but I 'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
• Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.
• Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
• There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
• But touch me, and no minister so sore; Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme, Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burden of some merry song.
• Here's a letter from Mrs. Jerome Whatsis from West Jesus, North Dakota.
  She says, "Dear Sir: I don't know what I would do without satire....
• Look round the habitable world: how few Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue.
  -- John Dryden (1631-1700) -- Juvenal, Satire x...
• Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty.