Love that is fed by jealousy dies hard.
Imperceptibly the hours glide on, and beguile us as they pass.
She only is chaste, who is chaste where there is no danger of detection: she who does not, because she may not, does.
What is reason now was passion heretofore.
Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear.
Sleep, rest of nature, O sleep, most gentle of the divinities, peace of the soul, thou at whose presence care disappears, who soothest hearts wearied with daily employments, and makest them strong again for labour!