My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

Nothing to me is more distasteful than that entire complacency and satisfaction which beam in the countenances of a new married couple; in that of the lady particularly; it tells you that her lot is disposed of in this world; that you can have no hopes for her.

His voice was the most obnoxious squeak I ever was tormented with.

You may derive thoughts from others; your way of thinking, the mould in which your thoughts are cast, must be your own.

We love to chew the cud of a foregone vision; to collect the scattered rays of a brighter phantasm, or act over again, with firmer nerves, the sadder nocturnal tragedies.