Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling?
We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been.
Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have nonsense respected.
Damn the age. I'll write for antiquity.
Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years,- One minute of heaven is worth them all.