Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . Sabbathless Satan!

Were I Diogenes, I would not move out of a kilderkin into a hogshead, though the first had had nothing but small beer in it, and the second reeked claret.

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

Separate from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care if I never see another mountain in my life.

I have sat through an Italian opera, til, for sheer pain, and inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out into the noisiest places of the crowded street, to solace myself with sounds which I was not obliged to follow and get rid of the distracting torment of endless, fruitless, barren attention!

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

Since all the maids are good and lovable, from whence come the bad wives?