Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.

In reading some books we occupy ourselves chiefly with the thoughts of the author; in perusing others, exclusively with our own.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.

If we cannot comprehend God in his visible works, how then in his inconceivable thoughts, that call the works into being?

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass.

If I could dwell where Israfel hath dwelt and he where I he might not sing so wildly well a mortal melody while a bolder note then this might swell from my lyre in the sky.