Never find fault with the absent.

Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

The world is a thing we must of necessity either laugh at or be angry at; if we laugh at it, they say we are proud; if we are angry at it, they say we are ill-natured.

Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.

What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?