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— Letitia Elizabeth Landon"Alas! we makeA ladder of our thoughts, where angels step,But sleep ourselves at the foot: our high resolvesLook down upon our slumbering acts."
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Alas! fond child, How are thy thoughts beguil'd To hope for honey from a nest of wasps? Thou may'st as well Go seek for ease in hell, Or sprightly nectar from the mouths of asps. The world's a hive, From whence thou canst derive No good, but what thy soul's vexation brings: But case thou meet Some petty-petty sweet, Each drop is guarded with a thousand stings.
— Francis Quarles
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Love is sublime, truly, a precious gift. But also, alas, one of God's little pranks. It's naive of you to confuse love with happiness, as if they were somehow the samae thing. In fact love, once found, is more akin to gravity: too strong, too close, and it will crush you. Unless you're careful, always.
— Wil McCarthy
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