Familiar Acts Are Beautiful Through

Image Of Rugged Cliffs And So Thy Thoughts, When Thou Art Gone, Love Itself Shall Slumber On.

I Consider Poetry Very Subordinate To Moral And Political Science.

...ere Midnight’s Frown And Morning’s Smile, Ere Thou And Peace May Meet.

Constancy Has Nothing Virtuous In Itself, Independently Of The Pleasure It Confers, And Partakes Of The Temporizing Spirit Of Vice In Proportion As It Endures Tamely Moral Defects Of Magnitude In The Object Of Its Indiscreet Choice.

When A Man Marries, Dies, Or Turns Hindu, His Best Friends Hear No More Of Him.