Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.

When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?

Not if I know myself at all.

O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!

All people have their blind side-their superstitions.

What have I gained by health? Intolerable dullness. What by mode meals? A total blank.