There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter; therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.

The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

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

Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.

Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.