Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.

A dream has power to poison sleep.

Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls

A poet, as he is the author to others of the highest wisdom, pleasure, virtue, and glory, so he ought personally to be the happiest, the best, the wisest, and the most illustrious of men.

Constancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure it confers, and partakes of the temporizing spirit of vice in proportion as it endures tamely moral defects of magnitude in the object of its indiscreet choice.

He hath awakened from the dream of life.

When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed.