We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

I have a passion for the name of "Mary," For once it was a magic sound to me, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.