'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.

Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.

Now, in my opinion, a woman has no business with Power-Power admits no equal, and dismisses friendship for flattery. Besides, it keeps the men at a distance, and that is not always what we wish.