Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.

Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.

Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.

There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.