We are not all great because we are inspired, but we feel great because we are.
What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.