I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

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

The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand.

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.

Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead louers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

I am free in performing an action if I could have done otherwise if I had chosen to.