Where There Is No Novelty, There Can

A Poet Is A Painter In His Way, He Draws To The Life, But In Another Kind; We Draw The Nobler Part, The Soul And The Mind; The Pictures Of The Pen Shall Outlast Those Of The Pencil, And Even Worlds Themselves.

Nothing Is More Capable Of Troubling Our Reason, And Consuming Our Health, Than Secret Notions Of Jealousy In Solitude.

No Friend To Love Like A Long Voyage At Sea.

'twas But A Dream, Yet By My Heart I Knew, Which Still Was Panting, Part Of It Was True: Oh How I Strove The Rest To Have Believed; Ashamed And Angry To Be Undeceived!

Women In London Are Like The Rich Silks; They Are Out Of Fashion A Great While Before They Wear Out.