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The Great Object Of Life Is Sensation - To Feel That We Exist - Even Though In Pain - It Is This "craving Void" Which Drives Us To Gaming - To Battle - To Travel - To Intemperate But Keenly Felt Pursuits Of Every Description Whose Principal Attraction Is The Agitation Inseparable From Their Accomplishment.

-Lord Byron

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The Great Object Of

Lord Byron

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The Great Object Of Life Is Sensation - To Feel That We Exist - Even Though In Pain - It Is This "craving Void" Which Drives Us To Gaming - To Battle - To Travel - To Intemperate But Keenly Felt Pursuits Of Every Description Whose Principal Attraction Is The Agitation Inseparable From Their Accomplishment.

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What Opposite Discoveries We Have Seen! (signs Of True Genius, And Of Empty Pockets.) One Makes New Noses, One A Guillotine, One Breaks Your Bones, One Sets Them In Their Sockets; But Vaccination Certainly Has Been A Kind Antithesis To Congreve's Rockets.

My Great Comfort Is, That The Temporary Celebrity I Have Wrung From The World Has Been In The Very Teeth Of All Opinions And Prejudices. I Have Flattered No Ruling Powers; I Have Never Concealed A Single Thought That Tempted Me.

No Ear Can Hear Nor Tongue Can Tell The Tortures Of The Inward Hell!

Romances I Ne'er Read Like Those I Have Seen.

Death, So Called, Is A Thing Which Makes Men Weep, And Yet A Third Of Life Is Passed In Sleep.

I Doubt Sometimes Whether A Quiet And Unagitated Life Would Have Suited Me - Yet I Sometimes Long For It.

Few Things Surpass Old Wine; And They May Preach Who Please, The More Because They Preach In Vain

I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

I Know That Two And Two Make Four - And Should Be Glad To Prove It Too If I Could - Though I Must Say If By Any Sort Of Process I Could Convert 2 And 2 Into Five It Would Give Me Much Greater Pleasure.

It Is The Lava Of The Imagination Whose Eruption Prevents An Earthquake.

But First, On Earth As Vampire Sent, Thy Corse Shall From Its Tomb Be Rent, Then Ghastly Haunt Thy Native Place, And Suck The Blood Of All Thy Race. There From Thy Daughter, Sister, Wife, At Midnight Drain The Stream Of Life, Yet Loathe The Banquet Which Perforce Must Feed Thy Livid Living Corse. Thy Victims Ere They Yet Expire Shall Know The Demon For Their Sire, As Cursing Thee, Thou Cursing Them, Thy Flowers Are Withered On The Stem.

Have Not All Past Human Beings Parted, And Must Not All The Present, One Day Part?

Retirement Accords With The Tone Of My Mind; I Will Not Descend To A World I Despise.

For Truth Is Always Strange; Stranger Than Fiction.

I Learned To Love Despair.

One Certainly Has A Soul; But How It Came To Allow Itself To Be Enclosed In A Body Is More Than I Can Imagine.

Adversity Is The First Path To Truth.

The Premises Are So Delightfully Extensive, That Two People Might Live Together Without Ever Seeing, Hearing Or Meeting.

Then Rose From Sea To Sky The Wild Farewell Then Shriek'd The Timid, And Stood Still The Brave, Then Some Leap'd Overboard With Fearful Yell, As Eager To Anticipate Their Grave.

I Slept And Dreamt That Life Was Beauty; I Woke And Found That Life Was Duty.

How Sweet And Soothing Is This Hour Of Calm! I Thank Thee, Night! For Thou Has Chased Away These Horrid Bodements Which, Amidst The Throng, I Could Not Dissipate; And With The Blessing Of Thy Benign And Quiet Influence Now Will I To My Couch, Although To Rest Is Almost Wronging Such A Night As This.

So The Struck Eagle, Stretch'd Upon The Plain, No More Through Rolling Clouds To Soar Again, View'd His Own Feather On The Fatal Dart, And Wing'd The Shaft That Quiver'd In His Heart.

Tis An Old Lesson; Time Approves It True, And Those Who Know It Best, Deplore It Most; When All Is Won That All Desire To Woo, The Paltry Prize Is Hardly Worth The Cost.

Tis Said That Persons Living On Annuities Are Longer Lived Than Others.

A Timid Mind Is Apt To Mistake Every Scratch For A Mortal Wound.

I Have A Passion For The Name Of "mary," For Once It Was A Magic Sound To Me, And Still It Half Calls Up The Realms Of Fairy, Where I Beheld What Never Was To Be.

In The Desert A Fountain Is Springing, In The Wide Waste There Still Is A Tree, And A Bird In The Solitude Singing, Which Speaks To My Spirit Of Thee

This Is The Patent-age Of New Inventions For Killing Bodies, And For Saving Souls, All Propagated With The Best Intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's Lantern, By Which Coals Are Safely Mined For In The Mode He Mentions, Tombuctoo Travels, Voyages To The Poles, Are Ways To Benefit Mankind, As True, Perhaps, As Shooting Them At Waterloo.

Why I Came Here, I Know Not; Where I Shall Go It Is Useless To Inquire - In The Midst Of Myriads Of The Living And The Dead Worlds, Stars, Systems, Infinity, Why Should I Be Anxious About An Atom?

In General I Do Not Draw Well With Literary Men -- Not That I Dislike Them But I Never Know What To Say To Them After I Have Praised Their Last Publication.

Pleasure's A Sin, And Sometimes Sin's A Pleasure.

They Truly Mourn, That Mourn Without A Witness.

Let Joy Be Unconfined.

The Heart Will Break, But Broken Live On.

Tis Not On Youth's Smooth Cheek The Blush Alone, Which Fades So Fast, But The Tender Bloom Of Heart Is Gone, Ere Youth Itself Be Past.

'tis Pleasant, Sure, To See One's Name In Print. A Book's A Book, Although There's Nothing In 't.

Father Of Light! Great God Of Heaven! Hear'st Thou The Accents Of Despair? Can Guilt Like Man's Be E'er Forgiven? Can Vice Atone For Crimes By Prayer.

The French Courage Proceeds From Vanity

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

The Christian Has Greatly The Advantage Of The Unbeliever, Having Everything To Gain And Nothing To Lose.

Nothing To Lose

The Very Best Of Vineyards Is The Cellar

The Devil Hath Not, In All His Quiver's Choice, An Arrow For The Heart Like A Sweet Voice.

That Famish'd People Must Be Slowly Nurst, And Fed By Spoonfuls, Else They Always Burst.

Tis Pleasant Purchasing Our Fellow-creatures; And All Are To Be Sold, If You Consider Their Passions, And Are Dext'rous; Some By Features Are Brought Up, Others By A Warlike Leader; Some By A Place--as Tend Their Years Or Natures; The Most By Ready Cash--but All Have Prices, From Crowns To Kicks, According To Their Vices.

Oh, Christ! It Is A Goodly Sight To See What Heaven Hath Done For This Delicious Land!

Self Praise Is No Praise At All.

The Light Of Love, The Purity Of Grace, The Mind, The Music Breathing From Her Face, The Heart Whose Softness Harmonised The Whole — And, Oh! That Eye Was In Itself A Soul!

But As To Women, Who Can Penetrate The Real Sufferings Of Their She Condition? Man's Very Sympathy With Their Estate Has Much Of Selfishness And More Suspicion. Their Love, Their Virtue, Beauty, Education, But Form Good Housekeepers, To Breed A Nation.

What Men Call Gallantry, And Gods Adultery, Is Much More Common Where The Climate's Sultry.

I Am No Platonist, I Am Nothing At All; But I Would Sooner Be A Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, Than One Of The Seventy-two Villainous Sects Who Are Tearing Each Other To Pieces For The Love Of The Lord And Hatred Of Each Other.

There Are Four Questions Of Value In Life, Don Octavio. What Is Sacred? Of What Is The Spirit Made? What Is Worth Living For And What Is Worth Dying For? The Answer To Each Is The Same. Only Love.

And Mocha's Berry, From Arabia Pure, In Small Fine China Cups, Came In At Last. Gold Cups Of Filigree, Made To Secure The Hand From Burning, Underneath Them Place. Cloves, Cinnamon And Saffron, Too, Were Boiled Up With The Coffee, Which, I Think, They Spoiled.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

Let Not His Mode Of Raising Cash Seem Strange, Although He Fleeced The Flags Of Every Nation, For Into A Prime Minister But Change His Title, And 'tis Nothing But Taxation.

I Am Surrounded Here By Parsons And Methodists, But As You Will See, Not Infested With The Mania.

Positive Atheism

I Only Know We Loved In Vain; I Only Feel-farewell! Farewell!

This Is The Age Of Oddities Let Loose.

The World Is A Bundle Of Hay, Mankind Are The Asses That Pull, Each Tugs In A Different Way And The Greatest Of All Is John Bull!

Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication.

I Am Always Most Religious Upon A Sunshiny Day.

I Have Had, And May Have Still, A Thousand Friends, As They Are Called, In Life, Who Are Like One's Partners In The Waltz Of This World -not Much Remembered When The Ball Is Over.

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

Here's A Sigh To Those Who Love Me,and A Smile To Those Who Hate;and, Whatever Sky's Above Me,here's A Heart For Every Fate.

There Is No Such Thing As A Life Of Passion Any More Than A Continuous Earthquake, Or An Eternal Fever. Besides, Who Would Ever Shave Themselves In Such A State?

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.

But I Hate Things All Fiction... There Should Always Be Some Foundation Of Fact For The Most Airy Fabric - And Pure Invention Is But The Talent Of A Liar.

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.

I Have No Consistency, Except In Politics; And That Probably Arises From My Indifference To The Subject Altogether.

The Place Is Very Well And Quiet And The Children Only Scream In A Low Voice.

The Mellow Autumn Came, And With It Came The Promised Party, To Enjoy Its Sweets. The Corn Is Cut, The Manor Full Of Game; The Pointer Ranges, And The Sportsman Beats In Russet Jacket;--lynx-like Is His Aim; Full Grows His Bag, And Wonderful His Feats. An, Nutbrown Partridges! An, Brilliant Pheasants! And Ah, Ye Poachers!--'tis No Sport For Peasants.

Cervantes Smiled Spain's Chivalry Away.

Dreading That Climax Of All Human Ills The Inflammation Of His Weekly Bills.

I Came To Realize Clearly That The Mind Is No Other Than The Mountain And The Rivers And The Great Wide Earth, The Sun And The Moon And The Sky”.

If I Could Always Read, I Should Never Feel The Want Of Company.

I Cannot Describe To You The Despairing Sensation Of Trying To Do Something For A Man Who Seems Incapable Or Unwilling To Do Anything Further For Himself.

So Sweet The Blush Of Bashfulness, E'en Pity Scarce Can Wish It Less!

Be Hypocritical, Be Cautious, Be Not What You Seem But Always What You See.

The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.

He Scratched His Ear, The Infallible Resource To Which Embarrassed People Have Recourse.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend, The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend, Whose Honest Heart Is Still The Master's Own, Who Labours, Fights, Lives, Breathes For Him Alone, Unhonour'd Falls, Unnoticed All His Worth, Denied In Heaven The Soul He Held On Earth, While Man, Vain Insect Hopes To Be Forgiven, And Claims Himself A Sole Exclusive Heaven.

In Itself A Thought, A Slumbering Thought Is Capable Of Years; And Curdles A Long Life Into One Hour.

I Would Rather Have A Nod From An American, Than A Snuff- Box From An Emperor.

There's Not A Joy The World Can Give Like That It Takes Away.

I Am Ashes Where Once I Was Fire.

To Have Joy, One Must Share It.

Oh! Too Convincing--dangerously Dear-- In Woman's Eye The Unanswerable Tear! That Weapon Of Her Weakness She Can Wield, To Save, Subdue--at Once Her Spear And Shield.

Egeria! Sweet Creation Of Some Heart Which Found No Mortal Resting-place So Fair As Thine Ideal Breast.

Be Warm, Be Pure, Be Amorous, But Be Chaste.

Once More Upon The Waters! Yet Once More! And The Waves Bound Beneath Me As A Steed That Knows His Rider.

You Should Have A Softer Pillow Than My Heart.

Curiosity Kills Itself; And Love Is Only Curiosity, As Is Proved By Its End.

I Am So Changeable, Being Everything By Turns And Nothing Long - Such A Strange Melange Of Good And Evil.

May Moorland Weavers Boast Pindaric Skill, And Tailors' Lays Be Longer Than Their Bill! While Punctual Beaux Reward The Grateful Notes, And Pay For Poems--when They Pay For Coats.

On With The Dance! Let Joy Be Unconfin'd No Sleep Till Morn, When Youth And Pleasure Meet To Chase The Glowing Hours With Flying Feet

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

The English Winter - Ending In July To Recommence In August

No Words Suffice The Secret Soul To Show, For Truth Denies All Eloquence To Woe.

Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

You Have To Have A Passion For Your Work. How Can We Expect People To Be Passionate If You, As Their Coach, Does Not Have A Passion? Coaching Has To Be Something That Gives You Passion And Energy.

The Sight Of Blood To Crowds Begets The Thirst Of More, As The First Wine-cup Leads To The Long Revel.

Men Think Highly Of Those Who Rise Rapidly In The World; Whereas Nothing Rises Quicker Than Dust, Straw, And Feathers.

The Reading Or Non-reading A Book Will Never Keep Down A Single Petticoat.

Frienship Is Eros...without Wings

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.

I Cannot Help Thinking That The Menace Of Hell Makes As Many Devils As The Severe Penal Codes Of Inhuman Humanity Make Villains.

Her Great Merit Is Finding Out Mine; There Is Nothing So Amiable As Discernment.

Always Laugh When You Can; It Is Cheap Medicine. Merriment Is A Philosophy Not Well Understood. It Is The Sunny Side Of Existence.

I Really Cannot Know Whether I Am Or Am Not The Genius You Are Pleased To Call Me, But I Am Very Willing To Put Up With The Mistake, If It Be One. It Is A Title Dearly Enough Bought By Most Men, To Render It Endurable, Even When Not Quite Clearly Made Out, Which It Never Can Be Till The Posterity, Whose Decisions Are Merely Dreams To Ourselves, Has Sanctioned Or Denied It, While It Can Touch Us No Further.

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

A Legal Broom's A Moral Chimney-sweeper, And That's The Reason He Himself's So Dirty

Those Who Will Not Reason, Are Bigots, Those Who Cannot, Are Fools, And Those Who Dare Not, Are Slaves.

Exhausting Thought, And Hiving Wisdom With Each Studious Year.

Let Us Have Wine And Women, Mirth And Laughter, Sermons And Soda Water The Day After.

Such Is Your Cold Coquette, Who Can't Say "no," And Won't Say "yes," And Keeps You On And Off-ing On A Lee-shore, Till It Begins To Blow, Then Sees Your Heart Wreck'd, With An Inward Scoffing.

Time Strips Our Illusions Of Their Hue, And One By One In Turn, Some Grand Mistake Casts Off Its Bright Skin Yearly Like The Snake.

America Is A Model Of Force And Freedom And Moderation - With All The Coarseness And Rudeness Of Its People.

The Fact Is That My Wife If She Had Common Sense Would Have More Power Over Me Than Any Other Whatsoever, For My Heart Always Alights Upon The Nearest Perch.

I Am As Comfortless As A Pilgrim With Peas In His Shoes - And As Cold As Charity, Chastity Or Any Other Virtue.

Though The Day Of My Destiny 's Over, And The Star Of My Fate Hath Declined, Thy Soft Heart Refused To Discover The Faults Which So Many Could Find.

Oh, Mirth And Innocence! Oh, Milk And Water! Ye Happy Mixture Of More Happy Days!

So Much Alarmed That She Is Quite Alarming

The Music, And The Banquet, And The Wine-- The Garlands, The Rose Odors, And The Flowers, The Sparkling Eyes, And Flashing Ornaments-- The White Arms And The Raven Hair--the Braids, And Bracelets; Swan-like Bosoms, And The Necklace, An India In Itself, Yet Dazzling Not.

The Dew Of Compassion Is A Tear.

Let Us Have Wine And Woman, Mirth And Laughter, Sermons And Soda Water The Day After. Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication: Glory, The Grape, Love, Gold, In These Are Sunk The Hopes Of All Men, And Of Every Nation; Without Their Sap, How Branchless Were The Trunk Of Life's Strange Tree, So Fruitful On Occasion: But To Return--get Very Drunk; And When You Wake With Head-ache, You Shall See What Then.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

Christians Have Burnt Each Other, Quite Persuaded. That All The Apostles Would Have Done As They Did.

I Suppose We Shall Soon Travel By Air-vessels; Make Air Instead Of Sea Voyages; And At Length Find Our Way To The Moon, In Spite Of The Want Of Atmosphere.

Fools Are My Theme, Let Satire Be My Song.

Absence - That Common Cure Of Love.

Venice Once Was Dear, The Pleasant Place Of All Festivity, The Revel Of The Earth, The Masque Of Italy.

Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires, Exhales Her Odours, Blazes, And Expires.

Fill High The Cup With Samian Wine!

The Stars Are Forth, The Moon Above The Tops Of The Snow-shining Mountains--beautiful! I Linger Yet With Nature, For The Night Hath Been To Me A More Familiar Face Than That Of Man, And In Her Starry Shade Of Dim And Solitary Loveliness I Learned The Language Of Another World.

Go Let Thy Less Than Woman's Hand Assume The Distaff Not The Brand.

Admire, Exult, Despise, Laugh, Weep For Here There Is Such Matter For All Feelings: Man! Thou Pendulum Betwixt A Smile And Tear.

My Turn Of Mind Is So Given To Taking Things In The Absurd Point Of View, That It Breaks Out In Spite Of Me Every Now And Then.

I Shall Soon Be Six-and-twenty. Is There Anything In The Future That Can Possibly Console Us For Not Being Always Twenty-five?

Liberty - Eternal Spirit Of The Chainless Mind

Where Are The Forms The Sculptor's Soul Hath Seized? In Him Alone, Can Nature Show As Fair?

I Think The Worst Woman That Ever Existed Would Have Made A Man Of Very Passable Reputation -- They Are All Better Than Us And Their Faults Such As They Are Must Originate With Ourselves.

Cervantes Smiled Spain's Chivalry Away; A Single Laugh Demolish'd The Right Arm Of His Own Country.

On The Ear Drops The Light Drip Of The Suspended Oar.

Hatred Is The Madness Of The Heart.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me, But Let Us Part Fair Foes; I Do Believe, Though I Have Found Them Not, That There May Be Words Which Are Things, Hopes Which Will Not Deceive, And Virtues Which Are Merciful, Or Weave Snares For The Failing: I Would Also Deem O'er Others' Griefs That Some Sincerely Grieve; That Two, Or One, Are Almost What They Seem, That Goodness Is No Name, And Happiness No Dream.

A Woman Who Gives Any Advantage To A Man May Expect A Lover - But Will Sooner Or Later Find A Tyrant.

I Am Not Now That Which I Have Been.

And Dreams In Their Development Have Breath, And Tears, And Tortures, And The Touch Of Joy; They Have A Weight Upon Our Waking Thoughts, They Take A Weight From Off Our Waking Toils, They Do Divide Our Being.

I Love The Language, It Sounds As If It Should Be Writ On Satin With Syllables Which Breathe Of The Sweet South

For Through The South The Custom Still Commands The Gentleman To Kiss The Lady's Hands.

There Is Music In All Things, If Men Had Ears.

Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.

The Heart Ran O'er With Silent Worship Of The Great Of Old!-- The Dead, But Sceptred Sovereigns, Who Still Rule Our Spirits From Their Urns.

Better To Sink Beneath The Shock Than Moulder Piecemeal On The Rock!

As Falls The Dew On Quenchless Sands, Blood Only Serves To Wash Ambition's Hands.

Life Is Too Short For Chess.

Life Is Too Short

Life It Too Short

The Coach Does Not Play In The Game, But The Coach Helps The Players Identify Areas To Improve Their Game.

In Secret We Met - In Silence I Grieve, That Thy Heart Could Forget, Thy Spirit Deceive. If I Should Meet Thee After Long Years, How Should I Greet Thee? - With Silence And Tears

For Pleasures Past I Do Not Grieve, Nor Perils Gathering Near; My Greatest Grief Is That I Leave Nothing That Claims A Tear.

But There Are Wanderers O'er Eternity Whose Bark Drives On And On, And Anchor'd Ne'er Shall Be.

Damn Description, It Is Always Disgusting.

'tis Solitude Should Teach Us How To Die; It Hath No Flatterers; Vanity Can Give, No Hollow Aid; Alone - Man With God Must Strive.

Ancient Of Days! August Athena! Where, Where Are Thy Men Of Might? Thy Grand In Soul? Gone--glimmering Through The Dream Of Things That Were; First In The Race That Led To Glory's Goal, They Won, And Pass'd Away--is This The Whole?

I Die But First I Have Possessed, And Come What May, I Have Been Blessed.

This Is To Be Along; This, This Is Solitude!

What Deep Wounds Ever Closed Without A Scar? The Hearts Bleed Longest, And Heals But To Wear That Which Disfigures It.

Wounds And Scars

Armenian Is The Language To Speak With God.

He Learned The Arts Of Riding, Fencing, Gunnery, And How To Scale A Fortress - Or A Nunnery.

The Poetry Of Speech.

Romances Paint At Full Length People's Wooing. But Only Give A Bust Of Marriages.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

And I Would Hear Yet Once Before I Perish The Voice Which Was My Music... Speak To Me!

Whenever I Meet With Anything Agreeable In This World It Surprises Me So Much - And Pleases Me So Much (when My Passions Are Not Interested In One Way Or The Other) That I Go On Wondering For A Week To Come.

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

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.

Think'st Thou Existence Doth Depend On Time? It Doth; But Actions Are Our Epochs.

I Was Accused Of Every Monstrous Vice By Public Rumour And Private Rancour; My Name, Which Had Been A Knightly Or Noble One, Was Tainted. I Felt That, If What Was Whispered, And Muttered, And Murmured, Was True, I Was Unfit For England; If False, England Was Unfit For Me.

I Have Always Believed That All Things Depended Upon Fortune, And Nothing Upon Ourselves.

The Sky Is Changed,-and Such A Change! O Night And Storm And Darkness! Ye Are Wondrous Strong, Yet Lovely In Your Strength, As Is The Light Of A Dark Eye In Woman! Far Along, From Peak To Peak, The Rattling Crags Among, Leaps The Live Thunder.

[armenian] Is A Rich Language, However, And Would Amply Repay Any One The Trouble Of Learning It.

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!

When Newton Saw An Apple Fall, He Found In That Slight Startle From His Contemplation- 'tis Said (for I'll Not Answer Above Ground For Any Sage's Creed Or Calculation)- A Mode Of Proving That The Earth Turn'd Round In A Most Natural Whirl, Called 'gravitation'; And This Is The Sole Mortal Who Could Grapple, Since Adam, With A Fall, Or With An Apple.

Sorrow Is Knowledge, Those That Know The Most Must Mourn The Deepest, The Tree Of Knowledge Is Not The Tree Of Life.

My Native Land, Good Night!

History - The Devil's Scripture

And Angling Too, That Solitary Vice, What Izaak Walton Sings Or Says: The Quaint, Old, Cruel Coxcomb, In His Gullet Should Have A Hook, And A Small Trout To Pull It.

Now I Shall Go To Sleep. Goodnight.

I Am Acquainted With No Immaterial Sensuality So Delightful As Good Acting.

This Quiet Sail Is As A Noiseless Wing To Waft Me From Distraction.

Ecclesiastes Said That "all Is Vanity," Most Modern Preachers Say The Same, Or Show It By Their Examples Of True Christianity: In Short, All Know, Or Very Short May Know It.

Yet Truth Will Sometimes Lend Her Noblest Fires, And Decorate The Verse Herself Inspires: This Fact, In Virtue's Name, Let Crabbe Attest,- Though Nature's Sternest Painter, Yet The Best.

Knowledge Is Not Happiness, And Science But An Exchange Of Ignorance For That Which Is Another Kind Of Ignorance.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.

There's Not A Sea The Passenger E'er Pukes In, Turns Up More Dangerous Breakers Than The Euxine.

'tis Very Certain The Desire Of Life Prolongs It.

Eat, Drink And Love...the Rest Is Not Worth A Nickel

My Boat Is On The Shore, And My Bark Is On The Sea.

Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

There Is Something To Me Very Softening In The Presence Of A Woman, Some Strange Influence, Even If One Is Not In Love With Them, Which I Cannot At All Account For, Having No Very High Opinion Of The Sex. But Yet, I Always Feel In Better Humor With Myself And Every Thing Else, If There Is A Woman Within Ken.

Roll On, Thou Deep And Dark Blue Ocean

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