Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free.

Truth . . . and if mine eyes Can bear its blaze, and trace its symmetries, Measure its distance, and its advent wait, I am no prophet - I but calculate.

There is scarcely an occurrence in nature which, happening at a certain time, is not looked upon by some persons as a prognosticator either of good or evil. The latter are in the greatest number, so much more ingenious are we in tormenting ourselves than in discovering reasons for enjoyment in the things that surround us.

The study of the errors into which great minds have fallen in the pursuit of truth can never be uninstructive. . . No man is so wise but that he may learn some wisdom from his past errors, either of thought or action, and no society has made such advances as to be capable of no improvement from the retrospect of its past folly and credulity.

Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds

Tell me, ye wingèd winds That round my pathway roar, Know ye not some spot Where mortals weep no more?

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when earth was young.