Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.
Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.
Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
Who pleases one against his will.
O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.