He was not all a father's heart could wish;/ But oh, he was my son! my only son.
This will be triumph! this will be happiness! yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.
What custom hath endeared We part with sadly, though we prize it not.
O! who shall lightly say that fame/ is nothing but an empty name?
I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!/ And if upon its stillness fall/ The visions of a busy brain,/ We'll have our pleasure o'er again,/ To warm the heart, to charm the sight,/ Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.
He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for others' good, is a poor, frozen churl.
Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride.
I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
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