It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims; I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so.

Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die.

What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!

Fare thee well, and if for ever Still for ever fare thee well.

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.

The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.