The sun's sweet ray is hovering discovered.

The dragon-fly is dancing, - Is on the water glancing, She flits about with nimble wing, The flickering, fluttering, restless thing. Besotted chafers all admire Her light-blue, gauze-like, neat attire; They laud her blue complexion, And think her shape perfection.

God will pardon me. It is His trade.

Those who begin by burning books will end by burning people.

Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.

Religion cannot sink lower than when somehow it is raised to a state religion ... It becomes then an avowed mistress.

The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.