Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
God! Thou art love! I build my faith on that.
A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!