Damn description, it is always disgusting.

Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.

None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands.

Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.

I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.