His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.

Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

What is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves.

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.

It is impossible that had Buonaparte descended from a race of vegetable feeders that he could have had either the inclination or the power to ascend the throne of the Bourbons.

The advocates of literal interpretation have been the most efficacious enemies of those doctrines whose nature they profess to venerate.