The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.

Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.

My great comfort is, that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. I have flattered no ruling powers; I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me.

Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.

Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.