The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.

When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it--'t was no matter what he said.

I learned to love despair.

I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves.

A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.

But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent, Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race. There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.