Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.

I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.

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

All we behold is miracle.

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, The positive pronounce without dismay.

Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.