To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think.

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls.

O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

Till taught by pain, men know not water's worth.

The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?