What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts - you have no idea of the pain it gives one.
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.
Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.