A Little Scorn Is Alluring.

If This Be Not Love, It Is Madness, And Then It Is Pardonable.

Love's But The Frailty Of The Mind, When 'tis Not With Ambition Joined; A Sickly Flame, Which If Not Fed Expires; And Feeding, Wastes In Self-consuming Fires.

Women Are Like Tricks By Sleight Of Hand, Which, To Admire, We Should Not Understand

Musick Has Charms To Sooth A Savage Breast...

Would Any Thing But A Madman Complain Of Uncertainty? Uncertainty And Expectation Are Joys Of Life; Security Is An Insipid Thing; And The Overtaking And Possessing Of A Wish Discovers The Folly Of The Chase.