For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
What judgment I had increases rather than diminishes; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or reject; to run them into verse or to give them the other harmony of prose.
Love either finds equality or makes it.
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
I never saw any good that came of telling truth.