Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.
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.
A little scorn is alluring.
I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
O, she is the antidote to desire.