To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.

Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!

He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood.

As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.

On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.

A glass of good wine is a gracious creature, and reconciles poor mortality to itself and that is what few things can do.

True love's the gift which God has given to man alone beneath the heaven.