It would be difficult to determine whether the age is growing better or worse; for I think our plays are growing like sermons, and our sermons like plays.

Society than solitude is worse, And man to man is still the greatest curse.

Englishmen are said to love their laws; - that is the reason, I suppose, they give us so many of them, and in different editions.

And when midst fallen London, they survey The stone where Alexander's ashes lay, Shall own with humbled pride the lesson must By Time's slow finger written in the dust.

many things I knew, I have forgotten; many things I thought I knew, I find I know nothing about; some things I know, I have found not worth knowing; and some things I would give - O what would one not give to know? are beyond the reach of human ken.

The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.

Of her scorn the maid repented, And the shepherd - of his love.