I have sat through an Italian opera, til, for sheer pain, and inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out into the noisiest places of the crowded street, to solace myself with sounds which I was not obliged to follow and get rid of the distracting torment of endless, fruitless, barren attention!

Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.

When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.

As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun 's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

A garden was the primitive prison, till man with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.

You look wise, pray correct that error.

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?