The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this "craving void" which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.

Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go.

I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.

May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.

If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.

Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!