So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.

Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.

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

Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.

Fill high the cup with Samian wine!

I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me.

But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.