There is no such thing as pure pleasure; some anxiety always goes with it.

It is the act of a coward to wish for death.

To have properly studied the liberal sciences gives a polish to our manners, and removes all awkwardness.

Few love what they may have.

A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast.

The pleasure that is granted to me from a sense of duty ceases to be a pleasure at all.

He who can simulate sanity will be sane.