Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here were every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.

All of nature is God's art.

Follow your path, and let the people talk.

If you give people light, they will find their own way.

Will cannot be quenched against its will.

Nothing which is harmonized by the bond of the Muse can be changed from its own to another language without destroying its sweetness

It may be that a more subtle person would find for this thing a reason of greater subtlety: but such is the reason that I find, and that liketh me best.