Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

For all we know that English people are/ Fed upon beef - I won't say much of beer/ Because 'tis liquor only, and being far/ From this my subject, has no business here;/ We know too, they are very fond of war,/ A pleasure - like all pleasures - rather dear;/ So were the Cretans - from which I infer/ That beef and battle both were owing her

Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion.

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.

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.

Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.