Child Of Mortality, Whence Comest Thou? Why

It Would Be Difficult To Determine Whether The Age Is Growing Better Or Worse; For I Think Our Plays Are Growing Like Sermons, And Our Sermons Like Plays.

The Dead Of Midnight Is The Noon Of Thought.

Say Not 'good-night' But In Some Brighter Clime, Bid Me 'good-morning.'

The Awakenings Of Remorse, Virtuous Shame And Indignation, The Glow Of Moral Approbation If They Do Not Lead To Action, Grow Less And Less Vivid Every Time They Occur, Till At Length The Mind Grows Absolutely Callous.

Englishmen Are Said To Love Their Laws; - That Is The Reason, I Suppose, They Give Us So Many Of Them, And In Different Editions.