I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
But there are wanderers o’er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor’d ne’er shall be.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.
Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
I can’t but say it is an awkward sight To see one’s native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
Still from the fount of joy’s delicious springs Some bitter o’er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.
What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.
Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.