I awoke one morning and found myself famous.
Death so called is a thing which makes men weep And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
They never fail who die in a great cause.
Think you if Laura had been Petrarch's wife He would have written sonnets all his life?
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
A little curly-headed good-for-nothing And mischief-making monkey from his birth.
Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk the best of life is but intoxication.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!
I have not loved the world nor the world me I have not flatter'd its rank breath nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee.
And after all what is a lie? Tis but The truth in masquerade.
A mighty mass of brick and smoke and shipping Dirty and dusty but as wide as eye Could reach with here and there a sail just skipping In sight then lost amidst the forestry Of masts a wildernes...
On with the dance! Let joy be unconfin'd No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure meet.
This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home.
The past is the best prophet of the future.
For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.
In her first passion woman loves her lover In all the others all she loves is love.