Glory built on selfish principles is shame and guilt.
O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance A fool must now and then be right, by chance.
Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse; but talking is not always to converse, not more distinct from harmony divine, the constant creaking of a country sign.
The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.