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.

Fills The air around with beauty.

Good but rarely came from good advice.

Sorrow preys upon Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it From its sad visions of the other world Than calling it at moments back to this. The busy have no time for tears.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

Tis said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others.

Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.