What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

I love the language, it sounds as if it should be writ on satin with syllables which breathe of the sweet South