Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
He who is only just is cruel; who Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?
No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.