Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.
History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.
He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
This is the age of oddities let loose.
I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?