We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been.
My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.
The Muses were dumb while Apollo lectured.
Rags, which are the reproach of poverty, are the beggar's robes, and graceful insignia of his profession, his tenure, his full dress, the suit in which he is expected to show himself in public.
Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.
Much depends upon when and where you read a book. In the five or six impatient minutes before the dinner is quite ready, who would think of taking up the Faerie Queen for a stopgap, or a volume of Bishop Andrews's Sermons?