But love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

By night an atheist half-believes in God.

A dedication is a wooden leg.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

A friend is worth all hazards we can run.