If It Were Not For Poetry, Few

Hope Is The Last Thing That Dies In Man.

Jealousy Contains More Of Self-love Than Of Love.

We Sometimes Condemn The Present, By Praising The Past; And Show Our Contempt Of What Is Now, By Our Esteem For What Is No More.

If We Judge Love By Most Of Its Effects, It Resembles Rather Hatred Than Affection.

Some Men Are Like Ballads, That Are In Everyone's Mouth A Little While.