Nature... She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay. >>
It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poe >>
Every hero becomes a bore at last. >>
The envious die not once, but as oft as the envied win applause. >>
Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another m >>
All the world is competent to judge my pictures except those who are o >>
Envy is the tax which all distinction must pay.