Motives By Excess Reverse Their Very Nature

He Went Like One That Hath Been Stunn'd, And Is Of Sense Forlorn: A Sadder And A Wiser Man He Rose The Morrow Morn.

Some Men Are Like Musical Glasses; To Produce Their Finest Tones You Must Keep Them Wet.

Every Reform, However Necessary, Will By Weak Minds Be Carried To An Excess, That Itself Will Need Reforming.

Poor Little Foal Of An Oppressed Race! I Love The Languid Patience Of Thy Face.

He Knows Well The Evening Star, And Once When He Awoke, In A Most Distressful Mood (some Inward Pain Had Made Up That Strange Thing, An Infant's Dream), I Hurried With Him To Our Orchard Plot, And He Beheld The Moon, And Hushed At Once. Suspends His Sobs And Laughs Most Silently. While His Fair Eyes, That Swam With Undropped Tears, Did Glitter In The Yellow Moonbeam.