Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, Not practise!

Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.

I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed.

I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.

If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so.

Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.