Remorse Begets Reform.

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

How Fleet Is A Glance Of The Mind! Compared With The Speed Of Its Flight, The Tempest Itself Lags Behind, And The Swift-winged Arrows Of Light.

[my Kitten's] Gambols Are Not To Be Described, And Would Be Incredible, If They Could.

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

No Wild Enthusiast Could Rest, Till Half The World Like Him Was Possessed.