It is true that the unknown is the largest need of the intellect, though for it, no one thinks to thank God.
The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.
Till I loved I never lived.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
The Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.