O, she is the antidote to desire.
I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires; And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all.
Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.