I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.

Fare thee well! and if for ever, / Still for ever, fare thee well.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a...

I wish he would explain his explanation

Fame is the thirst of youth.

Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, ‘Tis woman’s whole existence

Oh! snatched away in beauty’s bloom, / On thee shall press no ponderous tomb.

With death doomed to grapple, / Beneath this cold slab, he / Who lied in the chapel / Now lies in the Abbey.

Hatred is the madness of the heart.

Did ye not hear it? – No; ’twas but the wind, / Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;/ On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; / No sleep till morn, when Youth...

A light broke in upon my brain, – / It was the carol of a bird; / It ceased, and then it came again, / The sweetest song ear ever heard.

The mountains look on Marathon – / And Marathon looks on the sea; / And musing there an hour alone, / I dreamed that Greece might yet be free.

But here I say the Turks were much mistaken – Who, hating hogs, yet wished to save their bacon

A finished gentleman from top to toe.

A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

He was the mildest mannered man / That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.

A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy? I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of...

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

He who loves not his country, can love nothing

Explaining metaphysics to the nation – / I wish he would explain his explanation.

The Cardinal is at his wit’s end – it is true that he had not far to go.

What an antithetical mind! — tenderness, roughness — delicacy, coarseness — sentiment, sensuality — soaring and groveling, dirt and deity — all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.

I’ll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

And when we think we lead, we are most led.

Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

The tenor’s voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.

I have met with most poetry on trunks; so that I am pat to consider the trunk-maker as the sexton of authorship

Fools are my theme; let satire be my song.

The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.

The ‘good old times’ – all times when old are good.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most

Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.

Romances paint at full length people’s wooings, but only give a bust of marriages: but no one cares for matrimonial cooings

I have no consistency, except in politics; and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss

A tigress robb’d of young, a lioness, Or any interesting beast of prey, Are similes at hand for the distress Of ladies who cannot have their own way

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day…

There is another old poet whose name I do not now remember who said, Adversity is the first path to truth

All is to be feared where all is to be lost

A little still she strove, and much repented, and whispering, “”I will ne’er consent”” – consented

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

The loudest wit I e’er was deafened with.

History is the devil’s scripture.