I Would Much Rather Have Been Merry

If This Man Had Not Twelve Thousand A Year, He Would Be A Very Stupid Fellow.

A Woman Of Seven And Twenty, Said Marianne, After Pausing A Moment, Can Never Hope To Feel Or Inspire Affection Again.

It Is The Misfortune Of Poetry, To Be Seldom Safely Enjoyed By Those Who Enjoy It Completely.

I Do Not Cough For My Own Amusement.

One Does Not Love A Place The Less For Having Suffered In It, Unless It Has Been All Suffering, Nothing But Suffering.