When Falsehood Can Look So Like The

Polluted By Crimes, And Torn By The Bitterest Remorse, Where Can I Find Rest But In Death?

...if I See But One Smile On Your Lips When We Meet, Occasioned By This Or Any Other Exertion Of Mine, I Shall Need No Other Happiness.

The Moon Gazed On My Midnight Labours, While, With Unrelaxed And Breathless Eagerness, I Pursued Nature To Her Hiding Places.

A Lofty Sense Of Independence Is, In Man, The Best Privilege Of His Nature.

Solitude Becomes A Sort Of Tangible Enemy, The More Dangerous, Because It Dwells Within The Citadel Itself.