The Truant Fancy Was A Wanderer Ever.

To Be Sick Is To Enjoy Monarchical Prerogatives.

A Poor Relation—is The Most Irrelevant Thing In Nature.

We Love To Chew The Cud Of A Foregone Vision; To Collect The Scattered Rays Of A Brighter Phantasm, Or Act Over Again, With Firmer Nerves, The Sadder Nocturnal Tragedies.

Shut Not Thy Purse-strings Always Against Painted Distress.

If There Be A Regal Solitude, It Is A Sick-bed. How The Patient Lords It There!