There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.

For Truth Is Always Strange; Stranger Than Fiction.

Love Rules The Camp, The Court, The Grove - For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

Like The Measles, Love Is Most Dangerous When It Comes Late In Life.

Be Thou The Rainbow In The Storms Of Life. The Evening Beam That Smiles The Clouds Away, And Tints Tomorrow With Prophetic Ray.

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?