Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.
Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog.
I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?
And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.
Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
Jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
All tragedies are finished by a death, All comedies are ended by a marriage.
I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, nor worse, for a people than another.
What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!
Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.
O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur'd for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,--at which my soul aches to think,-- Intoxicated with eternity.
I awoke one day to find myself famous.
Poetry should only occupy the idle.
Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.
Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
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