Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, He would have written sonnets all his life?.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

Fame is the thirst of youth.

There is no instinct like that of the heart.