Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man.

With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.

Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.

Art is the child of Nature.

He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.

I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.

Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.