Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after. Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication: Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk The hopes of all men, and of every nation; Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: But to return--Get very drunk; and when You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.
And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
Lord of himself; that heritage of woe!
I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.
Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.
The very best of vineyards is the cellar
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.
Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.
No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand; I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think.
I learned to love despair.
So much alarmed that she is quite alarming
The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented.
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