I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip But where my own did hope to sip.

She's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.

If it is abuse, - why one is always sure to hear of it from one damned goodnatured friend or another!

You shall see them on a beautiful quarto page where a neat rivulet of text shall meander through a meadow of margin.

Humanity always becomes a conqueror.

I leave my character behind me.

Our memories are independent of our wills.