I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.

Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.

Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.

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.

Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read that things inanimate have moved, and, as with living souls, have been inform'd, by magic numbers and persuasive sound.

Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.

Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.