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.

The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes and finds good in what he has chosen.

Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.

A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.

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

Cultivate simplicity or rather should I say banish elaborateness, for simplicity springs spontaneous from the heart.

Presents, I often say, endear absents.