Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself.
I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over.
I live, but live to die: and, living, see nothing to make death hateful, save an innate clinging, a loathsome and yet all invincible instinct of life, which I abhor, as I despise myself, yet cannot overcome — and so I live. Would I had never lived!
They say that Hope is happiness But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose first -- they set the last. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adored and lost Hath melted into memory. Alas! It is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are.
A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, Not practise!
I learned to love despair.
Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.
Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.
I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this "craving void" which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.
That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech.
Damn description, it is always disgusting.
America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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.
Critics are already made.
Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull
This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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