O sweet woods, the delight of solitariness!
Happiness is a sunbeam, which may pass though a thousand bosoms without losing a particle of its original ray.
We become willing servants to the good by the bonds their virtues lay upon us.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his
A popular license is indeed the many-headed tyrant.
Every base occupation makes one sharp in its practice, and dull in every other.