I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.
For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; my greatest grief is that I leave no thing that claims a tear.
Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven, a spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Alla given, to lift from earth our low desire.
Wordsworth – stupendous genius! Damned fool! These poets run about their ponds though they cannot fish.
Words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Wives in their husbands’ absences grow subtler, and daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
Who track the steps of Glory to the grave?
Who loves, raves.
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires the young, makes weariness forget his toil.
Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.
What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.
