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No one can say farewell with indifference.
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I have ever remarked, that when Fate has any great misfortune in store, it is always preceded by a brief period of calm and sunshine-as if to add bitterness of contrast to all other misery. It is for the happy to tremble-it is over their heads that the thunderbolt is about to burst.
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To know yourself less beloved than you love, is a dreadful feeling
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What is the reason that we find it so satisfactory to make excuses to ourselves-the only persons in the world to whom they must be altogether needless ?
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I made myself a little boatAnd launched it on the sea ;And into the wide world went forthTo see what there might be.
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Distinction is purchased at the expense of sympathy
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It is a fact not to be disputed, that the aristocracy have not 'progressed ' in proportion to the other classes. A young nobleman of the present day has not a better education than his ancestor in the time of Elizabeth.
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Awakening hope has named the nameOf love, or blown its spark to flame.Restlessness, but as the winds rangeFrom leaf to leaf, from flower to flower;Changefulness, but as rainbows change,From colour'd sky to sunlit hour.Ay, well indeed may minstrel sing,-What have the heart and year like spring?
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Expectation is in itself a very pretty sort of reality.
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Does the sweet morning rise,Bride-like, from sleep,When their first revelriesBird and bee keep,Singing out joyouslyIn the green tree ?Then, when my hopes are high,Think I of thee.
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Autumn was falling, but the pineSeem'd as it mock'd all change; no signOf season on its leaf was seen,The same dark gloom of changeless green.But like the gorgeous Persian bands'Mid the stern race of northern lands,The chesnut boughs were bright with allThat gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.
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-vanity, like all social vices, craves for novelty ;
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During slumber's magic reignOther times shall live again;
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Oh, love is timid in its birth!Watching her lightest look or stir,As he but look'd and breathed with her.Gay words were passing, but he leantIn silence; yet, one quick glance sent,-His secret is no more his own,When has woman her power not known?
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From Lee, a dramatist: Ah! the poet hath no true hope, who doth not place it in the many, and in the feeling of the common multitude.
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From Lee: I believe that the mind may make its own immortality : thought is the spiritual part of existence ; and so long as my mind influences others, so long as my thoughts remain behind, so long shall my spirit be conscious and immortal. The body may perish-not so the essence which survives in the living and lasting page.
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Born with them-born with them : all alike ! No pleasure equal to the pleasure of tormenting, to a woman.
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If we did but know how we rush into one evil while seeking to avoid another, we should have no resolution to shun any thing.
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By turns the woman and the queen,And each as the other had never been.
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They say gravity is the centre of attraction ; I rather think that noise is. Nothing so soon assembles the inhabitants of a house as a loud and sudden noise : …
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Human nature is accused of much more selfishness than it really has ; a thousand kindly emotions break in upon and redeem our daily and interested life.
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… when was a woman ever witty without being bitter?
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Never, dear father, love can be,Like the dear love I had for thee!
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Cradle of Letters ! Mistress of the World !Soil of the Sun ! Italia! I salute thee !How oft the human race have worn thy yoke.The vessels of thine arms, thine arts, thy sky !