And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.
A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.
But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.