For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.

The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.

My fears are agitated to an extreme degree and the dread of death involves me in a stupor of chilling indisposition.

The best way to avoid a bad action is by doing a good one, for there is no difficulty in the world like that of trying to do nothing.

I live here among the ignorant like a lost man in fact like one whom the rest seems careless of having anything to do with — they hardly dare talk in my company for fear I shoud mention them in my writings & I find more pleasure in wandering the fields then in mixing among my silent neighbours who are insensible of everything but toiling & talking of it & that to no purpose.