When a new book is published, read an old one.
It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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.
Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it: He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.