Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.

There is a budding morrow in midnight.

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.

What occasions the greater part of the world's quarrels? Simply this: Two minds meet and do not understand each other in time enough to prevent any shock of surprise at the conduct of either party.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.