"... we English people delight in a moral — not a moral to be deduced or inferred, but a nice, rounded, little moral, in all the starch of set sentences, and placed just at the end,"

"... who cares for a general compliment more than a general lover."

"Pattern love-letter — "I — I — I — you — you — you ; you — you — you — I — I — I," garnished with loves and doves ad libitum."

"We enjoy no pleasure so much as we do tormenting ourselves."

"If, even at three years old, we turn to the pleasures of memory, the less that is asserted about the felicity of childhood, the less there will be to dispute."

"A London day requires to be well aired before it is ventured into."

"Ah ! I appeal to all who have any sensibility — for themselves — how delightful it is to be called in the morning, yet not to obey that call. It combines two of the greatest enjoyments of which our nature is susceptible— obstinacy and indolence."

"I like to be candid in my admissions — it is so very disarming ; you forestall the objection which you admit — at least your adversary has scarcely the heart to push to its utmost the advantage which you so meekly confess."

"It is an unpleasant thing to differ in opinion with the rest of one's species — it is making a sort of North Pole of one's own, and then setting out in search of it."

"Philosophers are moral, and poets are picturesque about the country."

"She had always thought she would be like her father, and fancied a tall, dark, and handsome face."

"Everybody has some particular point on which they pique themselves ; generally something which ill deserves the pride bestowed upon it."

"A woman always exaggerates her beauty and its influence when they are past ; and it was a perpetual grief to think what her pretty face might have done for her."

"Other sorrows soften the heart, — poverty hardens it. Nothing like poverty for chilling the affections and repressing the spirits. Its annoyances are all of the small and mean order ; its regrets all of a selfish kind ; its presence is perpetual ; and the scant meal, and the grudged fire, are repeated day by day, yet who can become accustomed to them ?"

"He had married for love, under the frequent delusion of supposing that love will last under every circumstance most calculated to destroy it ; and, secondly, that it can supply the place of everything else."

"There is a favourite in every family; and, generally speaking, that favourite is the most troublesome member in it."

"We deny that poetry is fiction; its merit and its power lie alike in its truth:"

"The imagination, which is the source of poetry, has in every country been the beginning as well as the ornament of civilization. It civilizes because it refines."

"It is curious to observe how little one period resembles another. Centuries are the children of one mighty family, but here is no family-likeness between them."

"But preference, and its consequence, neglect, is the child's most cruel wrong. The bitter feeling of comparing our own lot with another's, will come quite soon enough without its being taught in infancy."

"But wit cuts its bright way through the glass-door of public favour;"

"Life has little breathing time ; and, even when we do for a moment reflect, it is rather on our present than our past : the pains and pleasures of memory are put aside as quickly as the poem which celebrates them."

"Ridicule is the re-action of enthusiasm. Sentiment was considered confined to schools ; and, so far from affecting too much feeling, people were beginning to be ashamed of having any."

"Literary taste is often confounded with literary talent by others, quite as much as by ourselves."

"It is a fact not to be disputed, that the aristocracy have not "progressed " in proportion to the other classes. A young nobleman of the present day has not a better education than his ancestor in the time of Elizabeth."

"And there the lovely Lily grew, The summer's purest flower, And many a tiny fairy knew The shelter of its bower,"

"Those cheerful bells, how can they bid A welcome to the new-born Year? I think on what the past has been ; I cannot hope—I only fear."

"The clouds, and not the stars, to them The omen and the sign be given— The clouds, the vapours of our soil, Not stars, whose element is heaven. The deepening shade, the flitting light, Mark what each coming month will know— The passing joy, the constant care, Of life's sad pilgrimage below."

"Deep in the silent waters, A thousand fathoms low, A gallant ship lies perishing — She foundered long ago."

"Does the sweet morning rise, Bride-like, from sleep, When their first revelries Bird and bee keep, Singing out joyously In the green tree ? Then, when my hopes are high, Think I of thee."

"Our sky has lost another star, The earth has claimed its own, And into dread eternity A glorious one is gone. He who could give departed things So much of light and breath, He is himself now with the past — Gone forth from life to death."

"Glorious and beautiful Were youth's feeling and youth's thought— Would that we did not annul All that in us then was wrought ! Would their influence could remain When the hope and dream depart ; Would we might through life retain Still some youth within the heart !"

"They know there must be May within the year, Else would they never dream that May was here."

"The poets told thy birth Was welcomed upon earth By the sweet multitude of shining flowers, By bursting buds, green leaves, and sunny hours."

"Then out on the folly of ancient times— The folly which wished you mirth : Look round on the anguish, look round on the vice, Then dare to be glad upon earth !"

"Is this the curse that is laid on the earth ? And must it ever be so, That there can be nothing of human good But must from some evil flow ? . . ."

"I saw an aged woman turn To her wretched home again — All day she had asked charity, And all day asked in vain. . . ."

"Now out upon you, Christmas ! Is this the merry time When the red hearth blazed, the harper sung, And the bells rung their glorious chime ? . . ."

"His heart is like a maggot-eaten nut: There's nothing in it ; but 'tis closely shut."

"Statues to whose rest seem'd given Not the life of earth but heaven ; For each statue here enshrined What in the immortal mind Makes its beauty and its power — Genius's eternal dower :"

"Black (for such the quarries yield Where the sun hath never shone, Which night only rests upon, Was the marble floor, which gave Mirror like some clear dark wave."

"Let the rose fall, another rose Will bloom upon the self-same tree ; Let the bird die, ere evening close Some other bird will sing for me. It is for the beloved to love, 'Tis for the happy to be kind ; Sorrow will more than death remove The associate links affections bind."

"Its berries are red as a maiden's lip, Its leaves are of changeless green ; And any thing changeless now, I wis, Is somewhat rare to be seen. The holly, which fall and frost has borne, The holly's the wreath for a Christmas morn."

"Weep for life, with its toil and care, Its crime to shun, and its sorrow to bear ; Let tears and the sign of tears be shed Over the living, not over the dead !"

"Where are the flowers, the beautiful flowers, That haunted your homes and your hearts in the spring ? Where is the sunshine of earlier hours ? Where is the music the birds used to bring ?"

"We say that people and that things are changed; Alas ! it is ourselves that change : the heart Makes all around the mirror of itself."

"The shade fell darker from the clustering vine, Whose green boughs twined the lattice like a wreath ; The lark had ceased the musical glad laugh With which he hails the morning; note by note The matin song had died upon the wind; The dew which hung upon the cypresses Had turned to sunshine on the waving leaves;—"

". . . Oh! the heart Makes its own happiness, perchance the best, When consecrate to one engrossing love !"

"One of those gifted ones that walk the earth, Like angels in their beauty, and the while The air is filled with music from their wings."

"Death came like a friend to restore thee To those who had died before thee: Father, mother, Sister, brother— There were none of these to mourn o'er thee. But now that Death has found thee, Thy kindred and friends are round thee ; In their rest they are laid In the dark yew shade, And cold sleep like their own has bound thee."