There is a proud modesty in merit.

She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.

All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.

Accurst ambition, how dearly I have bought you.