His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.

Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.

A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss; But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that ... I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might

Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.

A mighty pain to love it is,

Life for delays and doubts no time does give,