Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.
For my part, I can compare her (a gossip) to nothing but the sun; for, like him, she knows no rest, nor ever sets in one place but to rise in another.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.