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| The nursery still lisps out in all they utter -/ Besides, they always smell of bread and butter. | | Uncategorized | |
| The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice. | | Uncategorized | |
| The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend | | Uncategorized | |
| The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. | | Uncategorized | |
| The power of Thought, the magic of the Mind! | | Magic | |
| The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat. | | Uncategorized | |
| The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie. | | Uncategorized | |
| The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose. | | Uncategorized | |
| The spirit burning but unbent, / May writhe, rebel - the weak alone repent! | | Uncategorized | |
| The sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest. | | Heart; Love; Soul | |
| The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow. | | Uncategorized | |
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| The way to be immortal (I mean not to die at all) is to have me for your heir. I recommend you to put me in your will and you will see that (as long as I live at least) you will never even catch cold. | | Uncategorized | |
| The world is a bundle of hay, / Mankind are the asses who pull; / Each tugs it a different way, / And the greatest of all is John Bull. | | Uncategorized | |
| The would-be wits and can't-be gentlemen, I leave them to their daily "tea is ready," Smug coterie and literary lady | | Uncategorized | |
| Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, / Not for thy faults, but mine. | | Uncategorized | |
| Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt / In solitude, where we are least alone. | | Uncategorized | |
| There be none of Beauty's daughters / With a magic like thee. | | Uncategorized | |
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more. | | Uncategorized | |
