No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.

Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.

Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.

Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull

Despair and Genius are too oft connected

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.