For a ballad's a thing you expect to find lies in.

When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen.

Sure the shovel and tongs / To each other belongs.

Circumstances are the rulers of the weak; they are but the instruments of the wise.

Reproof on her lips, but a smile in her eyes.

My advice to you concerning applause is this: enjoy it but never quite believe it.