The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand.
I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.
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 free in performing an action if I could have done otherwise if I had chosen to.
Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, and love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.