To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.