I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?

Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

I love the language, it sounds as if it should be writ on satin with syllables which breathe of the sweet South

For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?

Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.