What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labours to these Bodleians were reposing here as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage; and the odor of their old moth-scented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of the sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard.

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

No one ever regarded the first of January with indifference.

Brandy and water spoils two good things.

Books which are no books.

This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, Theres nothing true but Heaven.

To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.