The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.

'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!