Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.

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

It would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their destiny and it has been bitter whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe.

Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.