A poet must need be before his own age, to be even with posterity

Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,- One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage.

It seems to me that the bane of our country is a profession of faith either with no basis of real belief, or with no proper examination of the grounds on which the creed is supposed to rest.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.

Incredulity robs us of many pleasures, and gives us nothing in return.