So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like scorpion girt by fire; So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.

No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.

The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.