Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?

Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.

He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.