On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.

I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.

What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements.

I learned to love despair.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.