Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
Now my charms are all o'erthrown.
Eternity was in our lips and eyes.
We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.