Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist? -ah! never-never.

Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.

We of the craft are all crazy.

A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy? I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of war.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.

Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand; I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.