Pleasure's A Sin, And Sometimes Sin's A

Then Farewell, Horace; Whom I Hated So, Not For Thy Faults, But Mine.

Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of Heaven!

I Have A Great Mind To Believe In Christianity For The Mere Pleasure Of Fancying I May Be Damned.

We Are All The Fools Of Time And Terror: Days Steal On Us And Steal From Us; Yet We Live, Loathing Our Life, And Dreading Still To Die.

Constancy... That Small Change Of Love, Which People Exact So Rigidly, Receive In Such Counterfeit Coin, And Repay In Baser Metal.