If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me, but let us part fair foes; I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful, or weave snares for the failing: I would also deem o'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; that two, or one, are almost what they seem, that goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.
Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .
Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.
This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!
What opposite discoveries we have seen! (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets.) One makes new noses, one a guillotine, One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets; But vaccination certainly has been A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets.
Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion.
To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.
I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more.
This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life, and if Virtue is not its own reward, I don't know any other stipend annexed to it.
Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.
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