The good are better made by ill, As odours crushed are sweeter still.

I lived to write, and wrote to live.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.

That very law which moulds a tear And bids it trickle from its source,- That law preserves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.

Go! you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.

Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.

Paris strikes the vulgar part of us infinitely the most, but to a thinking mind London is incomparably the most delightful subject for contemplation.