I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
One minute gives invention to destroy; What to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.