Thou hast had thty day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the very emblem of an old warhorse turned out on the barren heath; thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of them.

There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.

If a faultless poem could be produced, I am satisfied it would tire the critics themselves; and annoy the whole reading world with the spleen.

When true friends meet in adverse hour; 'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower. A watery way an instant seen, The darkly closing clouds between.

Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.

Heaven know its time; the bullet has its billet