"Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit, A great opinion of her own good qualities; Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it, And such, indeed, she was in her moralities; But then she had a devil of a spirit, And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities."

"Perfect she was, but as perfection is Insipid in this naughty world of ours, Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours), Don Jóse, like a lineal son of Eve, Went plucking various fruit without her leave."

"In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar!"

"'Tis strange—the Hebrew noun which means 'I am,' The English always used to govern d--n."

"She knew the Latin—that is, "the Lord's prayer," And Greek—the alphabet—I'm nearly sure."

"Her favourite science was the mathematical, Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity, Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all, Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity; In short, in all things she was fairly what I call A prodigy."

"His father's name was Jóse—Don, of course,— A true Hidalgo, free from every stain Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain."

"In Seville was he born, a pleasant city, Famous for oranges and women."

"My way is to begin with the beginning."

"Most epic poets plunge "in medias res" (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road)."

"Brave men were living before Agamemnon."

"Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-laureate, And representative of all the race, Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at Last,—yours has lately been a common case; And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at? With all the Lakers, in and out of place? A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye Like "four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye.""

"I want a hero: an uncommon want, When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one; Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan— We all have seen him, in the pantomime, Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time."

"Would he adore a sultan? he obey The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh?"

"If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues, Milton appeal'd to the Avenger, Time, If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs, And makes the word 'Miltonic' mean sublime,' He deign'd not to belie his soul in songs Nor turn his very talent to a crime; He did not loathe the Sire to laud the Son, But closed the tyrant-hater he begun."

"For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses, Contend not with you on the winged steed, I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses, The fame you envy and the skill you need."

"Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe will try 'Gainst you the question with posterity."

"Your bays may hide the baldness of your brows— Perhaps some virtuous blushes."

"You're shabby fellows—true—but poets still, And duly seated on the immortal hill."

"And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,— Explaining metaphysics to the nation— I wish he would explain his explanation."

"And Wordsworth, in a rather long Excursion (I think the quarto holds five hundred pages), Has given a sample from the vasty version Of his new system to perplex the sages; 'Tis poetry—at least by his assertion, And may appear so when the dog-star rages— And he who understands it would be able To add a story to the Tower of Babel."

""Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale?"—"Yes, by St. Ann; and Ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too." , Twelfth Night, or What You Will"

"Difficile est proprie comnumia dicere. , Epist. ad Pison."

"Great Galileo was debarr'd the Sun Because he fix'd it; and, to stop his talking, How Earth could round the solar orbit run, Found his own legs embargo'd from mere walking: The man was well-nigh dead, ere men begun To think his skull had not some need of caulking; But now, it seems, he's right — his notion just: No doubt a consolation to his dust."

"But not to go too far, I hold it law, That where their education, harsh or mild, Trangresses the great bounds of love or awe, The sufferers — be't in heart or intellect — Whate'er the cause, are orphans in effect."

"Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest."

"The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with."

"Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless Grace."

"The worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste Had more of her existence, for in her There was a depth of feeling to embrace Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as space."

"The antique Persians taught three useful things — To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth."

"Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be!"

"'Tis wonderful what fable will not do! 'Tis said it makes reality more bearable: But what's reality? Who has its clue? Philosophy? No: she too much rejects. Religion? Yes; but which of all her sects?"

"But if a writer should be quite consistent, How could he possibly show things existent?"

"She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone. There was awe in the homage which she drew; Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne Apart from the surrounding world, and strong In its own strength — most strange in one so young!"

"A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded."

"The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice."

"There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears: Their earth is but an echo of the spheres."

"All present life is but an interjection, An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery, Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!"—a yawn, or "Pooh!" Of which perhaps the latter is most true."

"'Tis strange, — but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction."

"There was no great disparity of years, Though much in temper; but they never clash'd: They moved like stars united in their spheres, Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd, Where mingled and yet separate appears The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd Through the serene and placid glassy deep, Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep."

"And whether coldness, pride, or virtue dignify A woman, so she's good, what does it signify?"

"Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so," Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, Who, 'stead of saying what you now should do, Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, And solace your slight lapse 'gainst bonos mores, With a long memorandum of old stories."

"And then he danced;—all foreigners excel The serious Angles in the eloquence Of pantomime;—he danced, I say, right well, With emphasis, and also with good sense— A thing in footing indispensable; He danced without theatrical pretence, Not like a ballet-master in the van Of his drill’d nymphs, but like a gentleman."

"He ne’er presumed to make an error clearer;— In short, there never was a better hearer."

"He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield, Who, after a long chase o’er hills, dales, bushes, And what not, though he rode beyond all price, Ask’d next day, ‘If men ever hunted twice?’"

"I for one venerate a petticoat."

"Alas! worlds fall — and woman, since she fell'd The world (as, since that history less polite Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held) Has not yet given up the practice quite. Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell'd, Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, Condemn'd to child-bed, as men for their sins Have shaving too entail'd upon their chins, —A daily plague, which in the aggregate May average on the whole with parturition."