Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.
The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.
I have a passion for the name of “Mary,” For once it was a magic sound to me, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be.
Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
Of all tales ’tis the saddest – and more sad, Because it makes us smile.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls – the World.
I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught, by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fears.
I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed.
A thirst for gold, The beggar’s vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!
And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
Though the day of my Destiny ’s over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E’en pity scarce can wish it less!