The Americans, like the English, probably make love worse than any other race.

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems

The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them

This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me

Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.

All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.