There is music in all things, if men had ears.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.

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.

Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.

Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.