Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.

Fill with mingled cream and amber, I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chamber of my brain — Quaintest thoughts — queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; What care I how time advances? I am drinking ale today.

Leave my loneliness unbroken

I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror.

In the marginalia ... we talk only to ourselves; we therefore talk freshly - boldly - originally - with abandonment - without conceit.

In the Heaven's above, the angels, whispering to one another, can find, among their burning terms of love, none so devotional as that of 'Mother.

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