Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

Come what may, I have been blest.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.