'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?

The devil was the first democrat

O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.