Though sages may pour out their wisdoms treasure, There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure.

Let us have Wine and Woman, Mirth and Laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.

Who forgives the Seniors ceaseless verse, Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse?

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A Book's a Book, altho' there's nothing in't.

I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.

I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other.

Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes: Pique her and soothe in turn-soon Passion crowns thy hopes.

Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes Sin's a pleasure.