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.

And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

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.

That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech.

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.