I toiled after it, sir, as some men toil after virtue.

To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.

For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.

Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.

Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing troubles me less, as I never think about them.

There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.

I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.