Date: 1733

"May not the sentient Principle have its Seat in some Place in the Brain, where the Nerves terminate, like the Musician shut up in his Organ-Room? May not the infinite Windings, Convolutions, and Complications of the Beginning of the Nerves which constitute the Brain, serve to d...

— Cheyne, George (1671-1743)

Date: 1733-1735

"Various rude Arts the untaught Ancients knew / To fix Ideas e'er they fled away, / And Images of Thought to Sight convey. / Brass, Wax, or Wood the Characters retain'd, / Some liv'd on Slates, and some the Canvas stain'd; / Some trac'd in Iv'ry, or engrav'd on Stone, / Or sunk in Clay, e're Bi...

— Bowden, Samuel (fl. 1733-1761)

Date: 1733-1735

"Still be his Image on your Mind imprest; / Be that the Mirror which you most admire, / Mortality itself can rise no higher."

— Bowden, Samuel (fl. 1733-1761)

Date: 1733-5

"[Love's] Pleasures have so many Pains, / And leave such Stings behind, / That I'm resolv'd to quit the Chains, / And free my captive Mind."

— Bowden, Samuel (fl. 1733-1761)

Date: 1733

"I love to pour out all myself, as plain / As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne. / In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen, / The Soul stood forth, nor kept a Thought within; / In me what Spots (for Spots I have) appear, / Will prove at least the Medium must be clear."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

"On Life's vast ocean diversely we sail, / Reason the card, but Passion is the gale."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

"Love, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling train, / Hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain, / These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd, / Make, and maintain, the balance of the mind."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

"Yes, Nature's road must ever be prefer'd; / Reason is here no guide, but still a guard."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

Reason gives the ruling passion more power "As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sowr"

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1734

"Search well, my soul, thro' all the dark recesses / Of nature and self-love, the plies, the folds, / And hollow winding caverns of the heart, / Where flattery hides our sins."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)