Such subtle Covenants shall be made,Till Peace it self is War in Masquerade.
Virtue is her own reward.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Men are but children of a larger growth.
I am devilishly afraid, that's certain; but ... I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
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.