To Have Joy, One Must Share It.

What Exile From Himself Can Flee? To Zones, Though More And More Remote, Still, Still Pursues, Where'er I Be, The Blight Of Life--the Demon Thought.

I Depart, Whither I Know Not; But The Hour's Gone By When Albion's Lessening Shores Could Grieve Or Glad Mine Eye.

Shelley Is Truth Itself And Honour Itself Notwithstanding His Out-of-the-way Notions About Religion.

When People Say, "i've Told You Fifty Times," They Mean To Scold, And Very Often Do; When Poets Say, "i've Written Fifty Rhymes," They Make You Dread That They'll Recite Them Too; In Gangs Of Fifty, Thieves Commit Their Crimes; At Fifty Love For Love Is Rare, 't Is True, But Then, No Doubt, It Equally As True Is, A Good Deal May Be Bought For Fifty Louis.

Every Day Confirms My Opinion On The Superiority Of A Vicious Life, And If Virtue Is Not Its Own Reward, I Don't Know Any Other Stipend Annexed To It.