Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.
I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand.
'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
Honesty needs no pains to set itself off.
But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.