Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter; therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.
Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?
'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.