Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.
Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt transitions.
Ask me not what I have, but what I am.
Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows one's nose.
If the Romans had been obliged to learn Latin, they would never have found time to conquer the world.
The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.