To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish read more

To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written.

Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of a man -- the biography of the man himself cannot be written.

Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of a man -- the biography of the man himself cannot be written.

'Humph!' grunted Mr. Romford, seeing his worst fears about to be realized. He had dreamt that he had timbled over read more

'Humph!' grunted Mr. Romford, seeing his worst fears about to be realized. He had dreamt that he had timbled over a poodle in the drawing-room, and squirted a bottle of porter right into a lady's face. 'Who's goin' besides ourselves?' asked Romford, wishing to know the worst at once. 'Better be killed than frightened to death,' thought he. - Mr. Facey Romford's Hounds.

The great Creator to revereMust sure become the creature;But still the preaching cant forbear,And ev'n the rigid feature:Yet ne'er with read more

The great Creator to revereMust sure become the creature;But still the preaching cant forbear,And ev'n the rigid feature:Yet ne'er with wits profane to rangeBe complaisance extended;An atheist laugh's a poor exchangeFor deity offended. - Epistle to a Young Friend, An.

If thou shouldst never see my face again,Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayerThan this world dreams read more

If thou shouldst never see my face again,Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayerThan this world dreams of. - The Passing of Arthur.

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other down;The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While read more

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other down;The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,The matrons glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;These were thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms -- but all these charms are fled. - Deserted Village, The.

A novel is a mirror carried along a main road.

A novel is a mirror carried along a main road.

If someone had told me I would be Pope one day, I would have studied harder.

If someone had told me I would be Pope one day, I would have studied harder.

Accuse not nature, she hath done her part;Do thou but thine, and be not diffidentOf wisdom, she deserts thee not, read more

Accuse not nature, she hath done her part;Do thou but thine, and be not diffidentOf wisdom, she deserts thee not, if thouDismiss not her, when most thou needest her nigh,By attributing overmuch to thingsLess excellent, as thou thyself perceivest. - Paradise Lost.