A land of levity is a land of guilt.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

[The] public path of life Is dirty.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.