I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.
They never fail who die in a great cause.
Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.
I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth