Even victors are by victories undone.
An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
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.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
Virtue is her own reward.