For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

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.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!