To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.

We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been.

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.

Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity.

The red-letter days, now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.

The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes and finds good in what he has chosen.

It is good to have friends at court.