Samuel Rogers

It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.

And the Sabbath bell That over wood and wild and mountain dell Wanders so far chasing all thoughts unholy With sounds most musical most melancholy.

When a new book is published, read an old one.

Think nothing done while aught remains to do.

I lived to write, and wrote to live.

Kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, as summer clouds flash forth electric fire.

To know her was to love her.