Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.

If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!

Some people have a knack of putting upon you gifts of no real value, to engage you to substantial gratitude. We thank them for nothing.

Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have nonsense respected.

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.

Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.