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

For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.

Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!