Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
Your lines, I maintain it, are poetry, and good poetry.... Friendship... had I been so blest as to have met with you in time, might have led me - God of love only knows where.