Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?

A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly.

I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town.

Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free... and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed?

He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!

Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.