When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.

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

Then never less alone than when alone.

To know her was to love her.

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

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.

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