What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.
As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.
Despair and Genius are too oft connected
All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99