Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods.