Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.

It is the privilege of genius that life never grows common place, as it does for the rest of us.

That best academy, a mother's knee.

Hush! Still as death, The tempest holds his breath As from a sudden will; The rain stops short, but from the eaves You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves, All is so bodingly still.

In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddened, Thou singest and tossest thy branches; Thy heart with the terror is gladdened, Thou forebodest the dread avalanches.... In the calm thou o'erstretchest the valleys With thine arms, as if blessings imploring, Like an old king led forth from his palace, When his people to battle are pouring.

The soil out of which such men as he are made is good to be born on, good to live on, good to die for and to be buried in.

Every person born into this world their work is born with them.