Hatred Is The Madness Of The Heart.

And Wrinkles, The Damned Democrats, Won't Flatter.

I Learned To Love Despair.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me.

As To Don Juan, Confess That It Is The Sublime Of That There Sort Of Writing; It May Be Bawdy, But Is It Not Good English? It May Be Profligate, But Is It Not Life, Is It Not The Thing? Could Any Man Have Written It Who Has Not Lived In The World? And Tooled In A Post-chaise? In A Hackney Coach? In A Gondola? Against A Wall? In A Court Carriage? In A Vis A Vis? On A Table? And Under It?

I Do Not Believe In Any Religion, I Will Have Nothing To Do With Immortality. We Are Miserable Enough In This Life Without Speculating Upon Another.