Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.

It is true that the unknown is the largest need of the intellect, though for it, no one thinks to thank God.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.

The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

Wonder is not precisely knowing.