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| As to 'Don Juan,' confess that it is the sublime of that there sort of writing; it may be bawdy, but is it not good English? It may be profligate, but is it not life, is it not the thing? Could any man have written it who has not lived in the world? | | Writing | |
| Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. | | Uncategorized | |
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| Better to sink beneath the shock than molder piecemeal on the rock | | Uncategorized | |
| Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. | | Uncategorized | |
| But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation. | | Uncategorized | |
| But he, with first a start and then a wink, / Said, `There's another star gone out, I think!' | | Uncategorized | |
| But here I say the Turks were much mistaken - Who, hating hogs, yet wished to save their bacon | | Uncategorized | |
| But I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric - and pure invention is but the talent of a liar. | | Uncategorized | |
| But Life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste | | Life; Sorrow | |
| But oh ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly - have they not henpecked you all | | Uncategorized | |
| But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly / `To gild refinèd gold, or paint the lily'. | | Uncategorized | |
| But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake | | Uncategorized | |
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| But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. | | Uncategorized | |
| But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse, / Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse? | | Uncategorized | |
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| By many stories, / And true, we learn the angels are all Tories. | | Uncategorized | |
| Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded that all the Apostles would have done as they did | | Uncategorized | |
