Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.

But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!

The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.

Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.

We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.

Made poetry a mere mechanic art.

...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.