No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.

Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.

O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

[My kitten] is dressed in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know you will delight in her.

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.

Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.