She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.

I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

For God's sake (I never was more serious) don't make me ridiculous any more by terming me gentle-hearted in print.

Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well And love me, it was sure to die.

A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.

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.

I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible.