“Nay, sir, you would make me believe that my poor attempts to realise the feelings of one who has experienced the tender passion are more happy than I fancied.” “Sir, this dissimulation is unworthy of you.” “Sir, I protest that I--that is--no, I shall protest nothing. You have spoken the truth, sir; any dissimulation is unworthy of me. I wrote those verses out of my own heart--God knows if they are the first that came from my heart--I own it, sir. Why should I be ashamed to own it?” “My poor friend, you have been Fortune's plaything all your life; but I did not think that she was reserving such a blow as this for you.” “A blow, sir? Nay, I cannot regard as a blow that which has been the sweetest--the only consolation of a life that has known but few consolations.” “Sir, this will not do. A man has the right to make himself as miserable as he pleases, but he has no right to make others miserable. Dr. Goldsmith, you have ill-repaid the friendship which Miss Horneck and her family have extended to you.” “I have done nothing for which my conscience reproaches me, Dr. Johnson. What, sir, if I have ventured to love that lady whose name had better remain unspoken by either of us--what if I do love her? Where is the indignity that I do either to her or to the sentiment of friendship? Does one offer an indignity to friendship by loving?” “My poor friend, you are laying up a future of misery for yourself--yes, and for her too; for she has a kind heart, and if she should come to know--and, indeed, I think she must--that she has been the cause, even though the unwilling cause, of suffering on the part of another, she will not be free from unhappiness.” “She need not know, she need not know. I have been a bearer of burdens all my life. I will assume without repining this new burden.” “Nay, sir, if I know your character--and I believe I have known it for some years--you will cast that burden away from you. Life, my dear friend, you and I have found to be not a meadow wherein to sport, but a battle field. We have been in the struggle, you and I, and we have not come out of it unscathed. Come, sir, face boldly this new enemy, and put it to flight before it prove your ruin.” “Enemy, you call it, sir? You call that which gives everything there is of beauty--everything there is of sweetness--in the life of man--you call it our enemy?” “I call it _your_ enemy, Goldsmith.”