May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
I never knew an enemy to puns who was not an ill-natured man.
Our spirits grow gray before our hairs.
Milton almost requires a solemn service of music to be played before you enter upon him. But he brings his music, to which who listen had need bring docile thoughts and purged ears.
Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have nonsense respected.
Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?